The Tales of the Heroes of the Stand
by Yugioash
Summary: Demigods of Greek and Roman reunited a world where Christian beliefs turns out to be true as a deadly virus wipes out 99% of population, leaving remaining 1% to learn to survive or die without their 1990s tech. But as these demigods team up survivors to recreate civilization, they face dangers that seem from the bible itself & join the side of good & become The Heroes of the Stand.
1. Warning Message

**A/N:** I do not own the Percy Jackson series or The Stand Cut or Uncut version. I have however posted 'The Tales of...' series. This story takes place after The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy but before the events of Trials of Apollo. Before reading this I suggest to read if you haven't yet:

The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Early Adventures  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sea of Monsters  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Titan's Curse  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Magical Labyrinth  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Stolen Chariot  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sword of Hades  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Bronze Dragon  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Last Olympian  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Staff of Hermes  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Mark of Athena  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The House of Hades  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Blood of Olympus  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Son of Sobek  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Staff of Serapis  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy

Also I'm going to let this out. On rough decisions based on what I know from The Stand, any mystical creatures Monsters, and automatons that are usually associated which characters from The Tales of and/or Percy Jackson won't be in this story

* * *

**The Tales of the Heroes of the Stand **

**Warning** **Message**

**Percy's** **POV**

I have to make this quick before Harold finds out. He was against this idea, saying my friends and I were just attention seekers with wild imagination, but Annabeth Leo Calypso and I agree we need to do this. Fortunately, Harold is too busy with his latest sign, but still this is for any _friends_ might find this.

My name is Percy Jackson age seventeen originally from Manhattan New York New York. If you know me then you can skip the next part. If not then I got to ask you, do you have someone with you who is ADHD and/or dyslexic and able to speak and/or understand Greek or Latin. Possibly raised by one biological parent and maybe a step parent, but secretive about one parent that didn't raise them. They might of also mention going to some summer camp in Long Island or Oakley Hills pass San Francisco and either have a beaded necklace and/or a tattoo burned into their forearm that includes the letters SPQR. If you do give this message to them. If not leave this letter where you found it.

If you know me or got this letter, then I'm glad to know you're alright, no matter who you are. This letter is to reinsure you you're not the only ones brought into this post-apocalyptic world.

First off, I want you to know, the Greeks and Roman Gods weren't the only real gods in our world. In fact, Annabeth and I had encounter with siblings with connections with Egyptian gods and even met a couple (I rather not get into details about that. I still reeling back from sharing mind with a vulture). After the incidents we figured the Greek/Roman Gods and the Egyptian Gods kept separated from each other for the safety of their own immortal beings due to the last couple of times the two mix (again long story).

Little did we know it would come to reveal that it's not just Roman Greeks and Egyptians, but all religious and thought to be mythical beings being real. Including the Christian God and Jesus which brings us to here.

I don't know why we were chosen, and it might not become clear until we all come together, but apparently this new world (at least to us) might be connected to the Bible and Christian Beliefs.

If so then beware of the dark man and listen to the old african american woman people in your group mention. Some might think it's just dreams or figment of imagination at first, but we know better. We had dreams like that practically our entire lives before coming here. Help convince your group that and go to the old lady.

Because something tells me, she's the key to how we are suppose to survive this quest and get back home to our world and that the dark man is the monster of this world.

Also if you are dyslexic, have someone read the bible to you, because Annabeth thinks that's the main source of information we'll need.

* * *

**A/N:** Merry Early Christmas or Happy Early Holidays if you don't celebrate Christmas. Either way, think of this new story as an early holiday present.


	2. Car Crashes Into Some Pumps

**A/N:** I do not own the Percy Jackson series Kane Chronicles or The Stand Cut or Uncut version. I have however posted 'The Tales of...' series. This story takes place after The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy but before the events of Trials of Apollo. Before reading this I suggest to read if you haven't yet:

The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Early Adventures  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sea of Monsters  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Titan's Curse  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Magical Labyrinth  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Stolen Chariot  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sword of Hades  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Bronze Dragon  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Last Olympian  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Staff of Hermes  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Mark of Athena  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The House of Hades  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Blood of Olympus  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Son of Sobek  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Staff of Serapis  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy

Also I'm going to let this out. On rough decisions based on what I know from The Stand, any mystical creatures Monsters, and automatons that are usually associated which characters from The Tales of and/or Percy Jackson won't be in this story

Also there's no character list for the stand, but if I had too pick two from the book it be Stu Redman and Fran Goldsmith as a pairing, and if I was allowed to add a fifth character to show, it would be of course Mother Abigail.

* * *

**Car Crashes Into Some Pumps**

Things were great for Annabeth and Percy. It looked like they were finally going to get some time to be just senior high school students. That was until one night they fell asleep and the next day woke up to be in a different place. Nothing new as Hera once kidnapped Percy in his sleep. But as they found out they not only were in a different world, but somehow back in time to the 1990s. They were still in the United States but were in Arnette Texas.

After staying around as visitors, they manage to get jobs volunteering at a gas station called Hapcomb and even stayed with the owner Hap and his wife. It was volunteer though as Hap didn't have the money to pay them. Like most businesses Hapcomb was near broke in money as Arnette turned out to be a dying town. Even the two factories in town, the paper factory and calculator factory was affected by it. The Paper Factory had shut down where as the calculator factory was ailing.

Annabeth and Percy slowly got along with Hap's usual customers: Norman Bruett and Tommy Wannamaker, who had both worked in the paper factory, were on relief, having run out of unemployment some time ago; Henry Carmichael and Stu Redman: who both worked at the calculator plant but rarely got more than thirty hours a week; and Victor Palfrey: a retired old man that smoked stinking home rolled cigarettes, which were all he could afford. None of them knew Annabeth and Percy were from different time ahead of them, and that's how they want it.

One night the five of them were hanging out with Hap, Annabeth, and Percy. Annabeth worked the cash register as Percy helped with stock as Hap had his usual arguments with Vic.

"Now what I say is this," Hap told them, putting his hands on his knees and leaning forward. "They just gotta say screw this inflation s-. Screw this national debt s-. We got the presses and we got the paper. We're gonna run off fifty million thousand-dollar bills and hump them right the Christ into circulation."

Vic rolled another of his cigarettes. He was a machinist until 1984, and was the only one present besides Annabeth with sufficient self-respect to point out Hap's most obvious d- statements, and he did indeed pointed it out: "That wouldn't get us nowhere. If they do that, it'll be just like Richmond in the last two years of the States War. In those days, when you wanted a piece of gingerbread, you gave the baker a Confederate dollar, he'd put it on the gingerbread, and cut out a piece just that size."

"Germany tried that too after World War I to pay off it's debt," Annabeth pointed out, "All they did was make their economy worse."

"That's right. Money is just paper." Vic said.

"I know some people don't agree with you," Hap said sourly. He picked up a greasy red plastic paper-holder from his desk. "I owe these people. And they're starting to get pretty itchy about it. Percy, you agree with me don't you?"

"I got to go with Annabeth on this one," Percy said, which wasn't uncommon. Whether Hap was right or wrong Percy took Annabeth's side, mostly because he knew she would get him back later if he didn't. Still, Hap kept both of them because they work for free, and Annabeth was really good in helping with bills and cash register. She'd be better if she had Daedalus' laptop, but that along with Percy's pet hellhound Mrs. O'Leary and their pet Saber Tooth Spactus Kitten Small Bob was left behind in the other world. Still when Annabeth show her thanks in front of the men, they often get groans but hidden smiles.

Stuart Redman, who was perhaps the quietest man in Arnette, was sitting in one of the cracked plastic Woolco chairs, a can of Pabst in his hand, looking out the big service station window at Number 93. Stu knew about poor. He had grown up that way right here in town, the son of a dentist who had died when Stu was seven, leaving his wife and two other children besides Stu.

His mother had gotten work at the Red Ball Truck Stop just outside of Arnette—Stu could have seen it from where he sat right now if it hadn't burned down in 1979. It had been enough to keep the four of them eating, but that was all. At the age of nine, Stu had gone to work, first for Rog Tucker, who owned the Red Ball, helping to unload trucks after school for thirty-five cents an hour, then at the stockyard in the neighboring town of Braintree, lying about his age to get twenty back-breaking hours of labor a week at the minimum wage.

Watching Percy carrying in boxes of stock reminded Stu of the way his hand hands had bled at first from pulling endless handtrucks of hides and guts. He had tried to keep that from his mother, but she had seen, less than a week after he started. She wept over them a little, and she hadn't been a woman who wept easily. But she hadn't asked him to quit the job. She knew what the situation was. She was a realist.

Some of the silence in him came from the fact that he had never had friends, or time for them. There was school, and there was work. His youngest brother, Dev, had died from pneumonia the year he began at the yards, and Stu had never gotten over that. Guilt, he supposed. He had loved Dev the best… but his passing had also meant there was one less mouth to feed.

In high school he had found football, and that was something his mother had encouraged even though it cut into his work hours. "You play," she said. "If you got a ticket out of here, it's football, Stuart. You play. Remember Eddie Warfield." Eddie Warfield was a local hero. He had come from a family even poorer than Stu's own, had covered himself with glory as a quarterback of the regional high school team, had gone to Texas A&M with an athletic scholarship, and had played for ten years with the Green Bay Packers, mostly as a second-string quarterback but on several memorable occasions as the starter. Eddie now owned a string of fast-food restaurants across the West and Southwest, and in Arnette he was an enduring figure of myth. In Arnette, when you said "success," you meant Eddie Warfield.

Stu was no quarterback, and he was no Eddie Warfield. But it did seem to him as he began his junior year in high school that there was at least a fighting chance for him to get a small athletic scholarship… and then there were work-study programs, and the school guidance counselor had told him about the NDEA loan program.

Then his mother had gotten sick, had become unable to work. It was cancer. Two months before he graduated from high school, she had died, leaving Stu with his brother Bryce to support. Stu had turned down the athletic scholarship and had gone to work in the calculator factory. And final it was Bryce, three years' Stu's junior, who had made it out. He was now in Minnesota, a systems analyst for IBM. He didn't write often, and the last time he had seen Bryce was at the funeral, after Stu's wife had died—died of the same sort of cancer that had killed his mother. He thought that Bryce might have his own guilt to carry…and that Bryce might be a little ashamed of the fact that his brother had turned into just another good boy in a dying Texas town, spending his days doing time in the calculator plant, and his nights either down at Hap's or over at the Indian Head drinking Lone Star beer.

The marriage had been the best time, and it had only lasted eighteen months. The womb of his young wife had borne a single dark and malignant child. That had been four years ago. Since, he had thought of leaving Arnette, searching for something better, but small-town inertia held him—the low siren song of familiar places and familiar faces. He was well liked in Arnette, and Vic Palfrey had once paid him the ultimate compliment of calling him "Old Time Tough."

At least watching Annabeth and Percy time to time had seem to bring hope to Stu to finding love again. The couple seem to have that affect on anyone that sees them together. Even Norm, who had a struggling marriage with his wife with him being out of a job seem to have a second wind of love after spending time with them.

As Vic and Hap chewed it out, there was still a little dusk left in the sky, but the land was in shadow. Cars didn't go by on 93 much now, which was one reason that Hap had so many unpaid bills. But there was a car coming now, Stu saw.

It was still a quarter of a mile distant, the day's last light putting a dusty shine on what little chrome was left to it. Stu's eyes were sharp, and he made it as a very old Chevrolet, maybe a '75. A Chevy, no lights on, doing no more than fifteen miles an hour, weaving all over the road. No one had seen it yet but him.

"Now let's say you got a mortgage payment on this station," Vic was saying, "and let's say it's fifty dollars a month."

"It's a h- lot more than that."

"Well, for the sake of the argument, let's say fifty. And let's say the Federals went ahead and printed you a whole carload of money. Well then those bank people would turn around and want a _hundred_ and fifty. You'd be just as poorly off."

"That's right," Henry Carmichael added.

"Henry, I would stay quiet if I were you," Percy said.

In the short amount of time Percy knew Henry, he learned that Henry had a habit of taking Cokes out of the machine without paying the deposit. What more, Hap knew about it too. So siding against Hap would be a bad idea on Henry's part.

"That ain't necessarily how it would be," Hap said weightily from the depths of his ninth-grade education. He went on to explain why.

Stu tuned out Hap's voice, knowing all too well about the pinch things were, and watched the Chevy pitch and yaw its way on up the road. The way it was going Stu didn't think it was going to make it much farther. It crossed the white line and its lefthand tires spumed up dust from the left shoulder. Now it lurched back, held its own lane briefly, then nearly pitch off into the ditch. Then, as if the driver had picked out the big lighted Texaco station sign as a beacon, it arrowed toward the tarmac like a projectile whose velocity is very nearly spent.

At this point, even Percy could hear the worn-out thump of its engine now, catching the attention of his ADHD mind, as the steady gurgle-and wheeze of a dying carb and a loose set of valves. Percy look out just as the car missed the lower entrance and bumped over the curb. The fluorescent bars over the pumps were reflecting off the Chevy's dirt streaked windshield so it was hard to see what was inside, but Stu and Percy made out a vague shape of the driver roll loosely with the bump. The car showed no sign of slowing from its relentless fifteen.

"So I say with more money in circulation you'd be—"

"Better turn off your pumps, Hap," Stu said mildly.

"The pumps? What?"

Norm Bruett had turned to look out the window. "Christ on a pony," he said.

Being closer to the switches than Stu, Percy flicked off all eight switches to the pumps, four in each hand, just as the Chevy hit the gas pumps on the upper island and sheared them off.

It plowed into them with a slowness that seemed implacable and somehow grand. The Chevy just kept coming at a steady fifteen or so, taillights never flashing once, like the pace car in the Tournament of Roses parade. The undercarriage screeched over the concrete island, and when the wheels hit it, everyone saw the driver's head swing limply and strike the windshield, starring the glass.

The Chevy jumped like an old dog that had been kicked, and plowed away the hi-test pump. It snapped off and rolled away, spilling a few dribbles of gas. The nozzle came unhooked and lay glittering under the fluorescents.

They all saw the sparks produce by the Chevy exhaust pipe grating across the cement. Percy reached for his watch as Hap, who had seen a gas station explosion in Mexico, instinctively shielded his eyes as both expected a fireball. Instead, the Chevy's rear end flirted around and fell off the pump island on the station side. The front end smashed into the low lead pump, knocking it off with a hollow _bang_.

Almost deliberately, the Chevrolet finished its 360-degree turn, hitting the island again, broadside this time. The rear end popped up on the island and knocked the regular gas pump asprawl. And there the Chevy came to a rest, trailing its rusty exhaust pipe behind it. It had destroyed all three of the gas pumps on that island nearest the highway. The motor continued to run choppily for a few second and then quit. The silence was so loud it was alarming.

After a few minutes, Annabeth said, "I don't think it'll explode. I believe we're safe."

"Holy moly," Tommy Wannamaker said breathlessly.

Hap got up and his shoulder bumped the map case, scattering Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona every which way. Hap felt a cautious sort of jubilation. His pumps were insured, and the insurance was paid up even before he hired Annabeth. His wife Mary had harped on the insurance ahead of everything.

"Guy must have been pretty drunk," Norm said.

"I don't think so. I seen drunk drivers, and the driver wasn't acting like a drunk driver," Percy said.

"I seen his taillights," Tommy said, his voice high with excitement. "They never flashed once. Holy moly! If he'd been doing sixty we'd all be dead now."

"I think Percy's right, that man wasn't drunk if he wasn't going really fast," Annabeth said, "He might have lost control or something."

"We better go out and help," Stu said.

They hurried out of the office, Hap Tommy and Norm first, and Stu, Vic, Percy and Annabeth bringing up the rear. Hap, Tommy and Norm reached the car together. They could smell gas and hear the slow clocklike tick of the Chevy's cooling engine. Hap opened the driver's side door and the man behind the wheel spilled out like an old laundry sack.

"G-," Norm Bruet shouted, almost screamed. He turned away, clutch his ample belly, and was sick. It wasn't the man who had fallen out (Hap had caught him neatly before he could thump to the pavement) but the smell that was issuing from the car, a sick stench compounded of blood, fecal matter, vomit, and human decay. It was a ghastly rich sick-dead smell.

A moment later Hap turned away, dragging the driver by the armpits. Tommy hastily grabbed the dragging feet and he and Hap carried him into the office. In the glow of the overhead fluorescents their faces were cheesy-looking and revolted. Hap had forgotten about his insurance money.

The others looked into the car, and then Henry turned away, one hand over his mouth, little finger sticking off like a man who had just raised his wineglass to make a toast. He trotted to the north end of the station's lot and let his supper come up.

Vic, Stu, Annabeth and Percy looked into the car. Annabeth gasped and turned to Percy for comfort which he gave her girlfriend. Annabeth normally was strong and can handle seeing dead bodies. Heck both fought in the Second Titan War and Second Giant War, and seen plenty of gruesome deaths caused by monsters and even seen their surgent brother sacrificed himself to keep the Titan lord Kronos from reforming, and both been in Tartarus and even the premedial god of the pit in his new physical form and only survived because of the sacrifice of a their titan friend and the Giant bane of Ares. Heck, Percy even met the Greek god of Death Thanos, who seem to love give upsetting kind of jabs at those who either came close to death or knew someone close that died, in Alaska. But what they saw in the car was a whole different level of upsetting.

On the passenger side was a young woman, her shift dress hiked up high on her thighs. Leaning against her was a boy or girl, about three years old. They were both dead. Their necks had swelled up like inner tubes and the flesh there was a purple-black color, like a bruise. The flesh was puffed up under their eyes, too. They look, Vic later said, like those baseball players who put lampblack under their eyes to cut the glare. Their eyes bulged sightlessly. The woman was holding the child's hand. Thick mucus had run from their noses and was now clotted there. Flies buzzed around them, lighting in the mucus, crawling in and out of their open mouths. Stu himself had been in the war, mortal wars of course, but still seen plenty of casualties, but he had never seen anything so terribly pitiful as this. His eyes were constantly drawn back to those linked hands.

_Lord Apollo, what kind of virus did these people get?_ Percy prayed, thinking of Apollo, god of plagues, as even if the mucus wasn't the biggest indicator Percy got a strong sense that it was some kind of disease that killed the mother and child.

Stu and Vic backed away together looked blankly at each other. Percy and Annabeth, who manage to calm down, follow their example. Then the four of them turned to the station. They could see Hap, jawing frantically into the pay phone. Norm was walking toward the station behind them, throwing glances at the wreck over his shoulder. The Chevy's driver side door stood sadly open. There was a pair of baby shoes dangling from the rear-view mirror.

Henry was standing by the door, rubbing his mouth with a dirty handkerchief. "Jesus, Stu," he said unhappily, and Stu nodded.

Hap hang up the phone. The Chevy's driver was lying on the floor. "Ambulance will be here in ten minutes. Do you figure they're—?" He jerked his thumb at the Chevy.

"They're dead, okay." Vic nodded. His lined face was yellow-pale, and he was sprinkling tobacco all over the floor as he tried to make one of his s-smelling cigarettes. "They're the two deadest people I've ever seen. He looked at Percy Annabeth and Stu who nodded. Stu put his hands in his pockets. He had the butterflies.

The man on the floor moaned thickly in his throat and everyone turned to look down at him. After a moment, it became obvious that the man was speaking or trying very hard to speak, Hap knelt beside him as Percy rushed to get some water.

Whatever had been wrong with the woman and child in the car was also wrong with this man. His nose was running freely, and his respiration had a peculiar undersea sound, a churning from somewhere inside his chest. The flesh beneath his eyes was puffing, not black yet, but a bruised purple. His neck looked too thick, and the flesh had pushed up in a column to give him two extra chins. He was running a high fever; being close to him was like squatting on the edge of an open barbecue pit where good coals had been laid.

Percy came back with the water, unknownst to everyone but Annabeth later that he actually got it out of his thermos that was encoated with fossilize sea shells inside so Percy could summon water when needed but the man just pushed it out of the way, spilling it.

"The dog," he muttered. "Did you put him out?"

"Mister," Hap said, shaking him gently. "I called the ambulance. You're going to be all right."

"Clock went red," the man on the floor grunted, and then began to cough racking chain like explosions that sent heavy mucus spraying from his mouth in long ropy platters. Hap leaned back grimacing.

"Annabeth, help me out," Percy said remembering the first aid training they had in Camp Half-Blood.

Annabeth knelt down and helped Percy roll the man over on his abdomen. Percy lightly smacked the man in the back several times to get whatever was in the man's lungs out.

Sure enough the man gave one big cough and a pool of mucus formed under him. Annabeth and Percy rolled the guy back over, but on the clean floor as the man was breathing unevenly again. His eyes blinked slowly and he looked at the group gathered around him.

"Where's…this?"

"Arnette," Hap said. "Bill Hapscomb's Texaco. You crashed out some of my pumps." And then hastily, he added: "That's okay. They was insured."

The man on the floor tried to sit up and was unable without Percy's and Annabeth's help. He put his hand on Hap's arhm.

"My wife…my little girl…"

Annabeth and Percy grimaced, thinking back to the bodies in the car.

"They're fine," Hap said, grinning a foolish dog grin.

"Seems like I'm awful sick," the man said. Breath came in and out of him in a thick, soft roar. "They were sick, too. Since we got up two days ago. Salt Lake City…" His eyes flickered closed. "Sick…guess we didn't move quick enough after all…"

Percy and Annabeth looked at each other in shock. They knew where Salt Lake City was—a city in Utah next to a salt water lake hence it's name—because they been there. Heck, they along with Percy's distant nephew Frank Zhang had battle out with Tar monsters while they were trying to get roofing tar. They also know Salt Lake City was further west from Texas.

_Just where did this guy come from,_ both wondered. _And what kind of quest are we stuck with?_

Far off but getting closer, they could hear the whoop of the Arnette Volunteer Ambulance.

"Man," Tommy Wannamaker said. "Oh man."

The sick man's eyes open again, and now they were filled with an intense, sharp concern. He struggled in Percy's and Annabeth's arms as if he wanted to sit up even more even though he already was sitting up. Sweat ran down his face. He grabbed Hap.

"Are Sally and Baby LaVon all right?" he demanded. Spittle flew from his lips and now even Hap could feel the man's burning heat radiating outward. This man was so sick he was half crazy and stank of an old dog blanket that haven't been washed.

Percy nearly froze hearing the man say Sally, as that was the name of his mother. Percy shook it off reminding himself she was in another world, hopefully safe with his step-father Paul waiting on the birth of his unborn sibling.

"They're all right," Hap insisted, a little frantically. "You just…lay down and take it easy, okay?"

Annabeth and Percy helped the man back to the floor. His breathing was rougher now until they rolled him on his side, which seem to ease the respiration to a trifle. "I felt good until last night," he said. "Coughing, but all right. Woke up with it in the night. Didn't get away quick enough. Is Baby LaVon okay?"

The last trailed off into something not even Percy and Annabeth could make out. The ambulance siren warbled closer and closer. Stu went over to the window to watch for it. The others remained circled around the man on the floor as Percy and Annabeth got up.

"What's he got, Vic. Any idea?" Hap asked.

Vic shook his head. "Dunno."

"He mention being at Salt Lake City. That's in Utah," Percy said.

"Did anyone check the plates to see what state he was from?" Annabeth asked.

"That car's got a California plate." Norm Bruett said. "Might have been something they ate. They was probably eatin at a lot of roadside stands, you know. Maybe they got a poison hamburger. It happens."

The ambulance pulled in and skirted the wreck Chevy to stop between it and the station door. The red lights on top made crazy sweeping circles. It was full dark now.

"Gimme your hand and I'll pull you outta there!" the man on the floor cried suddenly, and then was silent.

"Food poisoning," Vic said. "Yeah, that could be. I hope so, because—"

"Because what?" Henry asked.

"Because otherwise it might be something catching," Vic looked at them with troubled eyes. I seen cholera back in 1958, down near Nogales, and it look something like this."

_Dear Apollo, what have we found ourselves dealing with?_ Annabeth thought.

Percy did a silent nature spirit three claw hand swipe across his chest, which the men mistaken as just Percy making a cross sign (it is similar, just Percy's is older).

Three men came in, wheeling a stretcher. "Hap," one of them said. "You're lucky you didn't get your scraggy a- blown to kingdom come. This guy, huh?"

They broke apart and let them through—Billy Verecker, Monty Sullivan, Carlos Ortega, men all but Percy and Annabeth knew.

"There's two folks in that car," Hap said, drawing Monty aside. "Woman and a little girl. Both dead."

"Holy crow! You sure?"

"Yeah. This guy, he don't know. You going to take him to Braintree?"

"I guess," Monty looked at him bewildered. "What do I do with the two in the car? I don't know how to handle this, Hap."

"Stu can call State Patrol, and Annabeth and Percy can stay and help out. You mind if I ride with you?"

"H- no."

They got the man onto the stretcher, and while they ran him out, Hap went over to Stu. "I'm gonna ride into Braintreee with that guy. Would you call the State Patrol?"

"Sure."

"And Mary, too. Call and tell her what happened."

"Okay."

"Annabeth, Percy, mind the gas station until I get back or closing time. Stu will take you both home," Hap said.

Both nodded as Hap trotted out to the Ambulance and climbed in. Billy Verecker shut the doors behind him and then called the other two. They had been staring into the wrecked Chevy with dread fascination.

A few moments later the ambulance pulled out, sirens warbling, red domelight pulsing blood-shadows across the gas station's tarmac. Stu went to the phone and put a quarter in.

"Well this is some mess we got ourselves into," Percy said. "Annabeth, do you think this has something to do with why we're here?"

"I don't know, Percy," Annabeth said as her face turned into one of frustration she gets when she doesn't know something. "But I wouldn't be surprise if it is."

…

The man from the Chevy died twenty miles from the hospital. He drew one final bubbling gasp, let it out, hitched in a smaller one, and just quit.

Hap got the man's wallet out of his hip pocket and looked at it. There were seventeen dollars in cash. A California driver's license identified him as Charles D. Campion. There was an army card, and pictures of his wife and daughter encased in plastic. Hap didn't want to look at the pictures.

He stuffed the wallet back into the dead man's pocket and told Carlos to turn off the siren. It was ten after nine.


	3. A Nice Day at a Pier in Ogunquit Maine

**A/N:** I do not own the Percy Jackson series Kane Chronicles or The Stand Cut or Uncut version. I have however posted 'The Tales of...' series. This story takes place after The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy but before the events of Trials of Apollo. Before reading this I suggest to read if you haven't yet:

The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Early Adventures  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sea of Monsters  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Titan's Curse  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Magical Labyrinth  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Stolen Chariot  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sword of Hades  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Bronze Dragon  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Last Olympian  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Staff of Hermes  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Mark of Athena  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The House of Hades  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Blood of Olympus  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Son of Sobek  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Staff of Serapis  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy

Also I'm going to let this out. On rough decisions based on what I know from The Stand, any mystical creatures Monsters, and automatons that are usually associated which characters from The Tales of and/or Percy Jackson won't be in this story

Also there's no character list for the stand, but if I had too pick two from the book it be Stu Redman and Fran Goldsmith as a pairing, and if I was allowed to add a fifth character to show, it would be of course Mother Abigail.

For the list of pairings which would be spoiler alert for those showing up later:

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase  
Leo Valdez/Calypso  
Jason Grace/Piper McLean  
Frank Zhang/Hazel Levesque  
Stu Redman/Fran Goldsmith  
Larry Underwood (no relations to Grover obviously)/Lucy Swan

Other Important Characters

Mother Abigail  
Nick Andros  
Tom Collins  
Glen  
Ralph  
Trashcan Man  
Susan Stern  
a few more demigods as extra characters to help out.

Antagonist but still important  
Randal Flagg  
Harold Lauder  
Nadine Cross  
Lloyd

And of course the two main forces that are mention but more of Lead Supporting Roles without actually making a character appearance: God and Devil

* * *

**A Nice Day at a Pier in Ogunquit Maine**

Leo and Calypso were having their round America Trip and gone to sleep on Festus to their next destination only to wake up in community in Maine, without Leo's fire-breathing automaton friend, no Archimedes Sphere and in the 1990s.

Needless to say, Leo wasn't a happy son of Hephaestus and kept bursting into flames that he had to quickly put out for a while.

Once Leo calmed down both decided to get jobs. Leo got volunteer work at an autobody workshop in a sea side town called Ogunquit, Maine.

While there, Leo actually got along with one of the employees Peter Goldsmith, who was coming to retirement age but still was working, and after an invite to dinner Leo and Calypso met Peter's wife Carla, who seemed like an old fashion house wife that seem to spend her time in the past due to a tragic lost of their only son Freddy, and their only daughter and last living child Fran who was in college. Calypso and Fran got along with each other and Fran even introduced Calypso to her friend Amy Lauder. Fran also help Calypso get a job helping Gus who own a car parking lot offering to wash cars for a price to help boost business.

Today, Calypso was sweeping the area when Fran's car: a volvo came in and parked. Although normally Fran drives Calypso to and from the hotel where she and Leo been staying, Calypso wasn't due off anytime soon, so she guessed Fran was here for one person: her boyfriend Jess Rider, who came here on his bike and even paid Calypso to clean to help the business out as he toss pebbles into Mother Atlantic.

Jess was twenty, a year younger than Fran. He was a practicing college-student-undergraduate-poet who was showing it off with a immaculate blue chambray workshirt.

"Hi Fran," Calypso greeted.

"Hi Calypso," Fran greeted back.

Hearing them, Gus turned raised his hand toward Fran, making a peace sign.

"Your fella's out on the end of the pier, Miss Goldsmith."

"Thanks, Gus. How's business?" Fran asked.

He waved smilingly at the parking lot. There were many two dozen cars in all, and most of them had a blue and white resident sticker like the one on Fran's.

"I must thank you for suggesting me hired Calypso Fran, Ever since she been here offering cleaning vehicles and bikes to visitors and residents, business actually been up. Especially since they actually willing to pay her for the job well done while they enjoy the beach. And she makes of mighty fine stew for lunch too," Gus said.

Calypso blushed a little. "I'm just trying to help out."

"Well let's hope Gus doesn't embezzle it all in the next two weeks when the tourist comes in for Fourth of July," Fran said. "Daddy said Leo is planning to help with out with the fireworks this year, and he said it's going to be something special."

"Knowing Leo, it probably will be," Calypso said as Gus nodded in agreement and went back inside.

Frannie leaned one hand against the warm metal of her car, took off her sneakers, and put on a pair of rubber thongs. She was a tall girl with chestnut hair like Calypso's that fell halfway down the back of the buff-shirt she was wearing, good figure, long legs and basically the look of a Miss College Girl.

Leo even admitted he would hit on Frannie if they met before Leo crashed into Ogygia as Fran looked like someone way out of his league—which was actually the type of girls he uses to flirt with and get shot down by. Calypso did too, but due to the whole crashing into Ogygia and destroying her table and few dishes, they didn't get into a good start of getting along.

Fran paused at the edge of the sand, feeling the good heat baking the soles of her feet even through the rubber thongs. From where she stood, Jesse looked like a silhouette at the far end of the pier, still tossing small rocks into the water. Her thought was partly amusing but mostly dismaying. He knows what he looks like out there, she thought. Lord Byron, lonely but unafraid. Sitting in lonely solitude and surveying the sea which leads back, back to where England lies.

A look that Calypso herself secretly admitted she might have had herself when she was imprisoned in her birth island paradise Ogygia as heroes brought there by the Greek/Roman Gods came and went: Odysseus, Francis Drake, and Percy Jackson, but not before promising to find a way to free her. Percy did keep that promise as he got the gods to agree to free her, but it took the crash-landing of a certain scrawny son of Hephaestus and his mechanical sphere to figure out that she still needed a hero's help to get off the island as the gods refuse to do that themselves.

Except Jesse didn't had someone he cared about out there, as he already one here in Ogunquit—or at the time Calypso thought was the case.

Fran began to walk out along the pier, picking her way with careful grace over the rocks and crevices. It was an old pier, once part of a breakwater. Now most of the boats tied up on the southern end of town, where there were three marinas and seven honky-tonk motels that boomed all summer long (one of which Leo and Calypso were staying at).

She walked slowly, trying her best to cope with the thought that she might have fallen out of love with him in the space of the eleven days that she had known she was "a little bit preggers,' in the words of Amy Lauder. Amy only knew about it because she was there when Fran found out. No one else knew, not even her parents. Fran wanted to tell Jesse first to see how he would react since he had gotten her into that condition.

But not alone, that was for sure. And she had been on the pill. That had been the simplest thing in then world. She'd gone to the campus infirmary, told the doctor she was having painful menstruation and all sorts of embarrassing eructations on her skin, and the doctor had written her a prescription. In fact, he had given her a month of freebies.

Fran stopped again, out over the water now, the waves beginning to break toward the beach on her right and left. It occurred to her that the infirmary doctors probably heard about painful menstruation and too many pinples about as often as druggist heard about how I gotta buy these condoms for my brother—even more often in this day and age. She could just as easily have gone to him and said: "Gimme the pill. I'm gonna f-." She was of age. Why be coy? She looked at Jesse's back and sighed. Because coyness gets to be a way of life. She began to walk again, unaware that her pausing was really catching Calypso's attention and making the former titaness wonder what is going on to make Fran keep pausing.

Anyway, the pill didn't worked as Fran hoped. Somebody in the quality control department at the jolly old Ovril factory had been asleep at the switch. Either that or she had forgotten the pill and then had forgotten she'd forgotten, or some other sound-crazy excuse she could think of, which she had when she found out.

She walked softly up behind him and laid both hands on his shoulders.

Jess, who had been holding his rocks in his left hand and plunking them into Mother Atlantic with his right, let out a scream that could be heard by Calypso, and lurched to his feet. Pebbles scattered everywhere and he almost knocked Frannie off the side into the water. He almost went in himself, head first.

She started to giggle helplessly and backed away with her hands over her mouth as he turned furiously around, a well-built young man with black hair, gold rimmed glasses (that Leo said reminded him a bit of the glasses Jason wears these days), and regular features which, to Jesse's eternal discomfort, would never quite reflect the sensitivity inside him.

"You scared the _h-_ out of me!" he roared.

"Oh Jess," she giggled, "oh Jess, I'm sorry, but that was funny, it really was."

"We almost fell in the water," he said, taking a resentful step toward her.

She took a step backward to compensate, tripped over a rock, and sat down hard. Her jaw clicked together hard with her tongue between them—exquisite pain!—and she stopped giggling as if the sound had been cut off with a knife. The very fact of her sudden silence—you turn me off, I'm a radio—seemed funniest of all and she began to giggle again, in spite of the fact that her tongue was bleeding and tears of pain were streaming from her eyes.

"Are you okay, Frannie?" He knelt beside her, concerned.

I _do_ love him, she thought with some relief. Good thing for me.

"Did you hurt yourself, Fran?"

"Only my pride," she said, letting him help her up. "And I bit tongue. See?" She ran it out for him, expecting to get a smile as a reward, but he frowned.

"Jesus, Fran, you're really bleeding." He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and looked at it doubtfully. Then put it back.

The image of the two of them walking hand in hand back to the parking lot came to her, young lovers under a summer sun, her with his handkerchief stuffed in her mouth. She raises her hand to the smiling, benevolent attendant and says: Hung-huh-Guth.

She began to giggle again, even though her tongue did hurt and there was a bloody taste in her mouth that was a little nauseating.

"Look the other way," she said primly. "I'm going to be unladylike."

Smiling a little, he theatrically covered his eyes. Propped on one arm, she stuck her head off the side of the pier and spat bright red blood repeatedly.

At the parking lot Calypso saw the silhouette of Fran spitting something out of her mouth and got the feeling it was something her mother Carla wouldn't really approve. Calypso know next to nothing about modern lady like behavior, as Rachel Dare probably can give her pointers, but she been around other girls to know not all women cared as much about being lady like as Carla Goldsmith—except the half-sisters of Leo's friend Piper McLean—daughter of Aphrodite—that she met in her time in Camp Half-Blood. But at least not all of Aphrodite's daughters cared if others women were lady like. Carla Goldsmith did however, and even told Calypso off about some of the things she saw was unladylike. Leo tried to make Calypso feel better later by mocking Carla in a joking matter.

When Fran was done spitting out blood after a third try, she looked around to see Jess peeking through his fingers.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm such an a-."

"No," Jesse said, obviously meaning yes.

"Could we go get ice cream?" she asked. "You drive. I'll buy."

"That's a deal." He got to his feet and helped her up. She spat more blood over the side again.

Apprehensively, Fran asked him: I didn't bite any of it off, did I?"

"I don't know," Jess answered pleasantly. "Did you swallow a lump?"

She put a revolted hand to her mouth. "That's not funny."

"No. I'm Sorry. You just bit it, Frannie."

"Are there any arteries in a person's tongue?"

They were walking back along the pier now, hand in hand. She paused every now and then to spit over the side as she wasn't going to swallow any blood.

"Nope."

"Good." She squeezed his hand and smiled at him reassuringly. "I'm pregnant."

"Really? That's good. Do you know who I saw in Port—"

He stopped and looked at her, his face suddenly inflexible and very, very careful. It broke her heart a little to see the wariness there.

"What did you say?"

"I'm pregnant." She smiled at him brightly and then spat over the side of the pier again.

"Big joke, Frannie," he said uncertainly.

"No joke."

He kept looking at her.

Calypso saw them return and notice the now uneasiness between Fran and Jesse. Gus came out and waved to them, and they waved back as Calypso wondered what was said back there as they got into Fran's car and drove off.

Even when they returned, Calypso's concern didn't faze. In fact it increased as they seemed more distant. Calypso got into hiding position in hearing range.

"Sorry I hit you, Frannie," Jess said in a subdued voice. "I never meant to do that."

"I know. Are you going back to Portland?"

"I'll stay here tonight and call you in the morning. But it's your decision, Fran. If you decide, you know, that an abortion thing, I'll scrape up the cash."

"Pun intended?"

"No," he said. "Not at all." He slid across the seat and kissed her chastely. "I love you, Fran."

Fran didn't seem to be convince as she said quietly, "All right."

"It's the Lighthouse Motel. Call if you want."

"Okay." She slid behind the wheel, suddenly feeling very tired, but knew she better stay a little while until Calypso get off work. Her tongue ached miserably where she had bitten it.

Jesse walked where his bike was locked to the iron railing and coasted it back to her. "Wish you'd call, Fran.

She smiled artificially. "We'll see. So long, Jess."

Jess left, as Calypso stared dumb struck. She didn't know much about modern time, but from what she came to learn in the modern world, abortion was to terminate pregnancy. Which meant Fran was pregnant.

Calypso decided to best keep it to herself until Fran was ready to share, even when she got off work and Fran took her to the Hotel she and Leo were staying at (thankfully not the same one Jess was in). Calypso decided to at least tell Leo, knowing he'll know something was up when Calypso walked in their room with a quiet but concern expression.

Little did she know, that secret will be the least of her worries as far worse is about to unfold onto the world she and Leo came into.

* * *

**A/N:** Happy belated New Year. Sorry about the late greeting but I was still deciding on how to approach Calypso and Leo meeting Fran Goldsmith. The group with Larry won't be easier to introduced since Larry just arrived at his mother's apartment building when he was introduced. At least the group meeting Nick will be as easy as how Percy and Annabeth met Stu.

Any ways since I left out Daedalus Laptop I thought it be unfair and really silly if Leo had Archimedes Sphere with him. So no sphere. But Leo's and Annabeth's skills will most definitely come in handy later on.

Also in the next chapter I'm going to include parts of the story that Annabeth and Percy are not part of to help give you readers an idea of the earlier stages of the virus that killed Campion and his family.


	4. Not Only Annabeth was Right but it…

**A/N:** I do not own the Percy Jackson series Kane Chronicles or The Stand Cut or Uncut version. I have however posted 'The Tales of...' series. This story takes place after The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy but before the events of Trials of Apollo. Before reading this I suggest to read if you haven't yet:

The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Early Adventures  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sea of Monsters  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Titan's Curse  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Magical Labyrinth  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Stolen Chariot  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sword of Hades  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Bronze Dragon  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Last Olympian  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Staff of Hermes  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Mark of Athena  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The House of Hades  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Blood of Olympus  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Son of Sobek  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Staff of Serapis  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy

Also I'm going to let this out. On rough decisions based on what I know from The Stand, any mystical creatures Monsters, and automatons that are usually associated which characters from The Tales of and/or Percy Jackson won't be in this story

Also there's no character list for the stand, but if I had too pick two from the book it be Stu Redman and Fran Goldsmith as a pairing, and if I was allowed to add a fifth character to show, it would be of course Mother Abigail.

For the list of pairings which would be spoiler alert for those showing up later:

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase  
Leo Valdez/Calypso  
Jason Grace/Piper McLean  
Frank Zhang/Hazel Levesque  
Stu Redman/Fran Goldsmith  
Larry Underwood (no relations to Grover obviously)/Lucy Swan

Other Important Characters

Mother Abigail  
Nick Andros  
Tom Collins  
Glen  
Ralph  
Trashcan Man  
Susan Stern  
a few more demigods as extra characters to help out.

Antagonist but still important  
Randal Flagg  
Harold Lauder  
Nadine Cross  
Lloyd

And of course the two main forces that are mention but more of Lead Supporting Roles without actually making a character appearance: God and Devil

* * *

**Not Only Annabeth was Right but it also got Worst**

Percy and Annabeth were at Haps place enjoying a day off to themselves. Hap gave them a day off after what happened last night with Campion. After all, they were young and still have the rest of their lives ahead of them, and they don't need to return to work with the memory of the car scene and Campion dying fresh on their mind. At least, that's what Hap's wife argued.

"Hap sounded like he was starting to catch something this morning," Annabeth noted.

"I'm sure Hap is fine," Percy said. "Probably the summer cold or flu. Nothing to worry about."

"Percy, you heard what that Campion guy said. He was coughing and sneezing with a headache hours before he crashed into the pumps," Annabeth said.

"Yeah… but we're fine. We're not sick," Percy stated.

"You know that don't always mean anything," Annabeth slapped her boyfriend. "First thing they taught in first aid class, some people take longer to show symptoms than others."

"Okay, fine," Percy said. "But what about the others? Norm, Tommy, Stu, Henry, Vic… they were there with us. We don't know if they're showing any symptoms at all."

"I guess so…"

"Let's just enjoy the day, and tomorrow we'll see how everyone is doing when we go back to work," Percy said.

Little did Percy know, Annabeth was right to be worried, as they might be fine, but those with them and anyone they had contact with, exception of one other, was already showing symptoms.

…

Norm Bruett woke up a quarter past ten in the morning to the sound of kids fighting outside the bedroom window and country music from the radio in the kitchen.

He went to the back door in his saggy shorts and undershirt, threw it open, and yelled: "You kids shutcha heads!"

A moment's pause. Luke and Bobby looked around from the old and rusty dump truck they had been arguing over. As always when he saw his kids, Norm felt dragged two ways at once. His heart ached to see them wearing hand-me-downs and Salvation Army giveouts like the ones you saw African American children in East Arnette wearing; and at the same time a horrible, shaking anger would sweep him, making him want to stride out there and beat them.

"Yes, Daddy," Luke said in a subdued way. He was nine.

"Yes, Daddy," Bobby echoed. He was seven going on eight.

Norm stood for a moment, glaring at them, and slammed the door shut. He stood for a moment, looking indecisively at the pile of clothes he had worn yesterday. They were lying at the foot of the sagging double bed where he had dropped them.

That s- b-, he thought. She didn't even hang up my duds.

"Lila!" He bawled.

There was no answer. He considered ripping the door open again and asking Luke where the heck she had gone. It wasn't donated commodities day until next week and if she was down at the employment office in Braintree again she was an even bigger fool than he thought.

He didn't bother to ask the kids. He felt tired and he had a queasy, thumping headache. Felt like a hangover, but he'd only had three beers down at Hap's the night before. That accident had been a heck of a thing. The woman and the baby dead in the car, the man, Campion, dying on the way to the hospital. By the time Hap had gotten back, the State Patrol had come and gone, and the wrecker, and the Braintree undertaker's hack. Vic Palfrey had given the Laws a statement for all seven of them. The undertaker, who was also the county coroner, refused to speculate on what might have hit them.

"But it ain't cholera. And don't you go scarin people sayin it is. There'll be an autopsy and you can read about it in the paper."

Percy gave a little grumble in complaint as he was dyslexic, meaning words don't stay in place when he tries to read, or that's how Norm understood it. Annabeth was too. Norm don't know much about Dyslexia other than at first it sounded like an excuse for kids to be lazy about reading. But Percy and Annabeth weren't stupid nor lazy. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. So Norm and the others who didn't know better about dyslexia took the duo's word for it. But it made no difference to the coroner/undertaker.

Miserable little p-, Norm thought, slowly dressing himself in yesterday's clothes. His headache was turning into a real blinder. Those kids had better be quiet or they were going to have a pair of broken arms to mouth off about. Why the h- couldn't they have school the whole year round?

He considered tucking his shirt into his pants, decided the President probably wouldn't be stopping by that day, and shuffled out into the kitchen in his sock feet. The bright sunlight coming in the east windows made him squint.

The cracked Philco radio over the stove played a song that sounded like it was singed by an African American:

_But bay-yay-yaby you can tell me if anyone can,  
Baby, can you dig your man?  
He's a righteous man,  
Tell me baby, can you dig your man?_

The thing was, the radio was on a country station and the song was rock and roll. Norm turned it off before it could split his head. There was a note by the radio and he picked it up, narrowing his eyes to read it.

_Dear Norm  
Sally Hodges says she needs somebody to sit her kids this morning and says she'll give me a dollar. I'll be back for lunch. There's sausage if you want it. I love you honey  
Lila._

Norm put the note back and just stood there for a moment, thinking it over and trying to get the sense of it in his mind. It was g- hard to think past the headache. Babysitting…a dollar. For Ralph Hodges' wife.

The three elements slowly came together in his mind. Lila had gone off to sit Sally Hodges' three kids to earn a lousy dollar and had stuck him with Luke and Bobby. By God it was hard times when a man had to sit home and wipe his kids' noses so his wife could go and scratch out a lousy buck that wouldn't even buy them a gallon of gas. That was hard f- times.

Dull anger came to him, making his headache even worse. He shuffled slowly to the Frigidaire, bought when he had been making good overtime at the paper factory, and opened it. Most of the shelves were empty, except for leftovers Lila had put up in refrigerated dishes. He hated those little plastic Tupperware dishes. Old beans, old corn, a left-over dab of chili…nothing a man liked to eat. Nothing in there but little Tupperware dishes and three little old sausage done up in Handi-Wrap. He bent, looking at them, the familiar helpless anger now compounded by the dull throb in his head. Those sausage looked like somebody had cut the cocks off'n three of those pygmies they had down in Africa or South America or wherever the f- it was they had them. He didn't feel like eating anything. He felt d- sick, when you got right down to it.

He went over to the stove, scratch a match on the piece of sandpaper nailed to the wall beside it, lit the front gas ring, and but on the coffee. Then he sat down and waited dully for it to boil. Just before it did, he had to scramble his snotrag out of his back pocket to catch a big wet sneeze. Coming down with a cold, he thought. Isn't that something nice on top of everything else?

Unlike Annabeth, Norm didn't connect the dots of Campion mentioning headache and coughing to the phlegm running down his nose as he died.

…

Hap was in the garage bay putting a new tailpipe on Tony Leominster's Scout and Vic Palfrey was rocking back on a folding camp chair, watching him and drinking a Dr. Pepper. Hap had told Vic how his wife enforced him to give Annabeth and Percy a day off after last night and Vic was fine with that. Hap been managing this station on his own before Annabeth and Percy showed up, and although business has improved with Annabeth working there, one day without them wouldn't make a difference. As Vic thought that the bell dinged out front.

Vic squinted. "It's the State Patrol," he said. "Looks like your cousin, there. Joe Bob."

"Okay."

Hap came out from beneath the Scout, wiping his hands on a ball of waste. On his way through the office he sneezed heavily. He hated summer colds. They were the worst.

Joe Bob Brentwood, who was almost six and a half feet tall, was standing by the back of his cruiser, filling up. Beyond him, the three pumps Campion had driven over the night before were neatly lined up like dead soldiers.

"Hey Joe Bob!" Hap said, coming out.

"Hap, you s-," Joe Bob said, putting the pump handle on automatic and stepping over the hose. "You lucky this place still standin this morning."

"S-, Stu Redman saw the guy coming before Percy did, but Percy switched off the pumps. There was a load of sparks though."

"Still d- lucky. Listen Hap, I come over for somethin besides a fill-uip."

"Yeah?"

"Are those two teens with you today?"

"Percy and Annabeth. No, my wife insisted on giving them a day off after last night," Hap said.

Then Joe Bob's eyes went to Vic, who was standing in the station door. "What about that old geezer? Was he here last night?"

"Who? Vic? Yeah, he comes over most every night."

"Can he keep his mouth shut?"

"Sure, I reckon. He's a good enough old boy."

The automatic feed kicked off. Hap squeezed off another twenty cents' worth, then put the nozzle back on the pump and switched it off. He walked back to Joe Bob.

"So? What's the story?"

"Well, let's go inside. I guess the old fella ought to hear, too. And if you get a chance, you can phone the rest of them that was here, including those two teens."

They walked across the tarmac and into the office.

"A good mornin to you, Officer," Vic said.

Joe Bob nodded.

"Coffee, Joe Bob?" Hap asked.

"I guess not." He looked at them heavily. "Thing is, I don't know how my superiors would like me bein here at all. I don't think they would. So when those guys come here, you don't let them know I tipped you, right?"

"What guys, Officer?" Vic asked.

"Health Department guys," Joe Bob said.

Vic said, "Oh Jesus, it _was_ cholera. I _knowed_ it was."

Hap looked from one to the other. "Joe Bob?"

"I don't know nothing," Joe Bob said, sitting down in one of the plastic Woolco chairs. His bony knees came nearly up to his neck. He took a pack of Chesterfields from his blouse pocket and lit up. "Finnegan, there, the coroner—"

"That was a s-," Hap said fiercely. "You should have seen him struttin' around in here, Joe Bob. Just like a pea turkey that got its first hardon. Shushin people and all that."

"He's a big t- in a little bowl, all right," Joe Bob agreed. "Well, he got Dr. James to look at this Campion, and the two of them called in another doctor that I don't know. Then they got on the phone to Houston. And around three this mornin they come into that little airport outside of Braintree."

"Who did?"

"Pathologist. Three of them. They were in there with the bodies until eight o'clock. Cuttin on em is my guess, although I dunno for sure. Then they got on the phone to the Plague Center in Atlanta, and those guys are going to be here this afternoon. But they said in the meantime that the State Health Department was to send some fellas out here and see all the guys that were in the station last nightl; and the guys that drove the rescue unit to Braintree. I dunno, but it sounds to me like they want you quarantined."

"Moses in the bulrushes," Hap said, frightened.

"The Atlanta Plague Center's federal," Vic said. "Would they send out a planeload of federal men just for cholera?"

"Search me?" Joe Bob said. "But I thought you guys had a right to know. From all I heard, you just tried to lend a hand."

"It's appreciated, Joe Bob," Hap said slowly. "What did James and this other doctor say?"

"Not much. But they looked scared. I never seen doctors look scared like that. I didn't care for it."

A heavy silence fell. Joe Bob went to the drink machine and got a bottle of Fresca. The faint hissing sound of carbonation was audible as he popped the cap. As Joe Bob sat down again, Hap took a Kleenex from the box next to the cash register, wiped his runny nose, and folded it into the pocket of his greasy overall.

"What have you found out about Campion?" Vic asked. "Anything?"

"We're still checking," Joe Bob said with a trace of importance. "His ID says he was from San Diego, but a lot of the stuff in his wallet was two and three years out of date. His driver's license was expired. He had a BankAmericard that was issued in 1986 and that was expired, too. He had an army card so we're checking with them. The captain has a hunch that Campion hadn't lived in San Diego for maybe four years."

"AWOL?" Vik asked. He produced a big red bandanna, hawked, and spat into it.

"Dunno yet. But his army card said he was in until 1997, and he was in civvies, and he was with his family, and he was a f- of a long way, from California, and listen to my mouth run."

"Well, I'll get in touch with the others and tell em what you said, anyway," Hap said. "Much obliged."

Joe Bob stood up. "Sure. Just keep my name out of it. I sure wouldn't want to lose my job. Your buddies and those two teens don't need to know who tipped you, do they?"

"No," Hap said, and Vic echoed it.

As Joe Bob went to the door, Hap said a little apologetically: "That's five even for gas, Joe Bob. I hate to charge you, but with things the way they are—"

"That's okay." Joe Bob handed him a credit card. "State's payin. And I got my credit slip to show why I was here."

While Hap was filling out the slip he sneezed twice.

"You want to watch that," Joe Bob said. "Nothin any worse than a summer cold."

"Don't I know it."

Suddenly Vic realized the same thing Annabeth realized of what Campion said last night and said: "Maybe it ain't a cold."

They turned to him. Vic looked frightened.

"I woke up this morning sneezing and hackin away like sixty," Vic said. "Had a mean headache, too. I took some aspirins and it's gone back some, but I'm still full of snot. Maybe we're coming down with it. What that Campion had. What he died of."

Hap looked at him for a long time, and as he was about to put forward all his reasons why it couldn't be, he sneezed again.

Joe Bob looked at them gravely for a moment and then said, "You know, it might not be such a bad idea to close the station, Hap. Just for today."

Hap looked at him, scared, and tried to remember what all his reasons had been. He couldn't think of one. All he could remember was that he had also awakened with a headache and a runny nose. Annabeth noticed it too and she seemed concern. Hap originally passed it off as everyone catches a cold once in a while. But before that Campion had shown up, he had been fine. Just fine.

That was how Vic and Hap started too realized what Annabeth was arguing with Percy about, and the news is still about to get worse.

…

The three Hodges kids were six, four, and eighteen months. The two youngest were taking naps and the oldest was out back digging a hole. Lila Bruett was in the living room, watching "The Young and the Restless." She hoped Sally wouldn't return until it was over. Ralph Hodges had bought a big color TV when times had been better in Arnette, and Lila loved to watch the afternoon stories in color. Everything was so much prettier.

She drew on her cigarette and then let the smoke out in spasms as a racking cough seized her. She went into the kitchen and spat the mouthful of c- she had brough up down the drain. She had gotten up with the cough, and all day it had felt like someone was tickling the back of her throat with a feather.

She went back to the living room after taking a peek out the pantry window to make sure Bret Hodges was okay. A commercial was on now, two dancing bottles of toilet bowl cleaner. Lila let her eyes drift around the room and wished her own house looked this nice. Sally's hobby was doing paint-by-the-numbers pictures of Christ, and they were all over the living room in nice frames. She especially liked the big one of the Last Supper mounted in back of the TV; it had come with sixty different oil colors, Sally had told her, and it took almost three months to finish. It was a real work of art.

Just as her story came back on, Baby Cheryl started to cry, a whooping, ugly yell broken by burst of coughing.

Lila put out her cigarette and hurried into the bedroom. Eva, the four-year-old, was still fast asleep, but Cheryl was lying on her back in her crib, and her face was going an alarming purple color. Her cries began to sound strangled.

Lila, who was not afraid of the croup after seeing both of her own through bouts with it, picked her up by the heels and swatted her firmly on the back. She had no idea if Dr. Spock recommend this sort of treatment or not, because she had never read him. It worked nicely on Baby Cheryl. She emitted a froggy croak and suddenly spat an amazing wad of yellow phlegm out onto the floor.

"Better?" Lila asked.

"Yeth," said Baby Cheryl. She was almost asleep again.

Lila wiped up the mess with a Kleenex. She couldn't remember ever having a baby coughed up so much snot all at once.

She sat down in front of "The Young and the Restless" again, frowning. She lit another cigarette, sneezed over the first puff, and then began to cough herself.

Unbeknownst to her, she had the same thing Campion had which her husband caught and spread to her and her two sons, and now she had spread to the three children she was watching over. And it wasn't just here, but all over Arnette as those at the gas station and ambulance spread it to those they knew, and those people spread it to those they knew and so on.

Annabeth was right to think this was the same virus Campion had. But she had not realized how quickly things have escapade in one day, because no mortal or demigod could without knowing what kind of virus they are dealing with. But most can at least come close, but not before it was too late to stop it.

* * *

**A/N:** Originally there was a chapter with a military government base behind the Flu that was released onto the world in the next chapter. It seem useless to get to it though without any characters from The Tales of Series. So I'm going to have to skip it for now.

As for why Calypso and Leo are not in Texas since Leo grew up in Houston, well, Joe Bob basically explained half off it. CDC and State Health Department. Mortal or immortal, I would think something in Calypso's blood would give away something that she's not human, and testing blood will be the first thing CDC will be checking for too make sure who has the virus or not. Percy Annabeth and Leo are safe because they're still humans, even if they're demigods. By time the flu hits Ogunquit, they will skip trying to capture those sick and go straight to quarantining the cities in futile attempt to just fight the virus off. So Calypso and Leo would be best there.


	5. Wayward Son of Alice Underwood Comes…

**A/N:** I do not own the Percy Jackson series Kane Chronicles or The Stand Cut or Uncut version. I have however posted 'The Tales of...' series. This story takes place after The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy but before the events of Trials of Apollo. Before reading this I suggest to read if you haven't yet:

The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Early Adventures  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sea of Monsters  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Titan's Curse  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Magical Labyrinth  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Stolen Chariot  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sword of Hades  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Bronze Dragon  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Last Olympian  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Staff of Hermes  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Mark of Athena  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The House of Hades  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Blood of Olympus  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Son of Sobek  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Staff of Serapis  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy

Also I'm going to let this out. On rough decisions based on what I know from The Stand, any mystical creatures Monsters, and automatons that are usually associated which characters from The Tales of and/or Percy Jackson won't be in this story

Also there's no character list for the stand, but if I had too pick two from the book it be Stu Redman and Fran Goldsmith as a pairing, and if I was allowed to add a fifth character to show, it would be of course Mother Abigail.

For the list of pairings which would be spoiler alert for those showing up later:

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase  
Leo Valdez/Calypso  
Jason Grace/Piper McLean  
Frank Zhang/Hazel Levesque  
Stu Redman/Fran Goldsmith  
Larry Underwood (no relations to Grover obviously)/Lucy Swan

Other Important Characters

Mother Abigail  
Nick Andros  
Tom Collins  
Glen  
Ralph  
Trashcan Man  
Susan Stern  
a few more demigods as extra characters to help out.

Antagonist but still important  
Randal Flagg  
Harold Lauder  
Nadine Cross  
Lloyd

And of course the two main forces that are mention but more of Lead Supporting Roles without actually making a character appearance: God and Devil

* * *

**Wayward Son of Alice Underwood Comes Home**

Jason and Piper were living a normal life—at least as normal as it can be for two demigods—in Los Angeles, when one night they fell asleep only to wake up back in New York City. At first they thought they were brought back New York to help their friends Percy and Annabeth, but they soon found out they weren't in the same universe and that it was in the 1990s.

With no place to stay but money they found in their pockets, Piper manage to charmspeak a landlord in Queens to rent them out a small apartment. There they found and befriended a tenant Alice Underwood, an elderly lady with dark hair that works as building supervisor maid for a hotel. There she helped them get jobs, Piper as receptionist and Jason as an electrician in training. Alice even drives them to and from work daily.

As they got along with Alice they learned she had a somewhat wayward son, Larry Underwood. He was a somewhat troubled child and teen growing up, not that Alice complained much about it, and when he was old enough moved to Los Angeles to make a name for himself.

That he actually did as Alice often played a song called: Baby Can You Dig Your Man. Although it sounded like it was sang by an African American, Alice Underwood would proudly tell anyone that was her son singing it, and he was Caucasian just as she is. Not many believed her of course, but those she convince were surprise to hear it.

Of course Alice had originally agreed that the song did sound like it was come from a n- but that change to sounding like an African American when she pet Piper and Jason and heard stories of their friends they had including an African American girl: Hazel Levesque. It didn't help that Piper herself was native American descendent and thus had a darker skin tone her self. If it wasn't for Piper's charmspeak, she and Jason might of ended up somewhere else in New York just because of Piper's Native American Skin color.

One morning Alice had invited Jason and Piper over for breakfast. Alice was making a fine meal of meat for her and Jason while Piper stuck to her vegetarian life choice. It didn't help that every breakfast Alice insisted on making eggs, but when Piper told her why she became a vegetarian, Alice nodded.

"I can't force you to eat something that remind you of a place like that," Alice said. "Vegetarians is a life choice, but it's a life choice that shouldn't taken lightly. You have your reasons that sound more reasonable than most who choose to eat only meat."

Since then Alice made sure there was some fruit and toast for Piper to eat when she was over.

Jason was looking out the kitchen window getting himself something to drink when he notice a Datsun Z between a fire hydrant and somebody's trashcan that had fallen into the gutter. The car stood out alone in the neighborhood as it looked brand new and expensive, more than the tenants here could afford. But there was a young man in his twenties sleeping in the front seat.

"Mrs. Underwood, there's someone up front," Jason said.

Alice looked and sighed. "It's just my son. He been there since around six. I thought he come in by now, but I guess I better go wake him."

Piper looked at Jason a bit surprise. They were finally going to meet Larry Underwood, but by the sound of the way Alice put it, the visit might not be for a good reason.

Alice left and a few minutes later came in with a young man with dark curly hair like hers.

"Larry, this is Piper McLean and Jason Grace. They live in an apartment a floor above here and been helping me out," Alice said. "Piper and Jason, this is my son Larry."

"Hey," the young man greeted awkwardly as if he was hoping no one else was here.

Piper and Jason greeted him back as Alice made her son the same breakfast she prepared Jason. Larryt lit a cigarette and pushed back from the table as Alice flashed the disapproving look. Piper was about to charmspeak Larry to put it out for his mother but decided not too when Alice kept quiet.

"Are you not hungry… Piper was it?" Larry asked.

"I'm a vegetarian. Been that way since my dad drove us pass a cow slaughter house when I was young," Piper said.

Larry shrugged. "That's fine with me. I met a few vegetarians back in California so I get it. So where are you guys from?"

"We were from Los Angeles, but I originally from San Francisco, and Piper spend time in Oklahoma for a time before coming here," Jason said.

Larry nodded. He never met these two before despite just coming from there, but he knew LA was a huge city and regular people who aren't celebrities live there, so it's possible for him to know someone from there.

Alice dropped the iron skillet into the gray dishwasher and it hissed a little. She was a little older than the last time Larry saw her—she would be fifty-one now—but hasn't changed much, except maybe a little grayer in her black hair. She was wearing a plan gray dress, probably the one she worked in.

Larry started to tap cigarette ashes into his coffee saucer; when Alice jerked it away and replaced it with the ashtray she always kept in the cupboard. The saucer had been sloppy with coffee and it seemed okay to tap in it. The ashtray was clean, reproachfully spotless, and he tapped into it with a slight pang. He knew Alice could bide her time in complaining about his smoking, and he knew she could keep springing small traps on you until your ankles were all bloody and you were ready to start gibbering.

"So you came back," Alice said, taking a used Brillo from a Table Talk pie dish and putting it to work on the skillet. "What brought you?"

Larry guessed she been talking to Jason and Piper about him otherwise this be more private. He also guess they must be as trusting as they look then. Still Larry wasn't about to get into details just yet with complete strangers. About how his troubles began.

…

It had started with him eighteen months ago. He had been playing with the Tattered Remnants in Berkeley club in Los Angeles, and a man from Columbia had called. Not a biggie, just another toiler in the vinyl vineyards. Neil Diamond was thinking of recording one of his songs, the tune "Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?"

Diamond was doing an album, all his own stuff except for an old Buddy Holly tune, "Peggy Sue Got Married," and maybe this Larry Underwood tune. The question was, would Larry like to come up and cut a demo of the tune, then sit in on the session? Diamond wanted a second acoustic guitar and he liked the tune a lot.

Larry said yes.

The session lasted three days. It was a good one. Larry met Neil Diamond, also Robbie Robertson, also Richard Perry. He got mention on the album's inner sleeve and got paid union scale. But "Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?" never made the album. On the second evening of the session, Diamond had come up with a new tune of his own and that made the album instead.

Well, the man from Columbia said, that's too bad. It happens. Tell you what—why don't you cut the demo anyway. I'll see if there's anything I can do. So Larry cut the demo and then found himself back out on the street. In L.A. times were hard. There were a few sessions, but not many.

He finally got a job playing guitar in a supper club, crooning things like "Softly as I Leave You" and "Moon River" while elderly cats talked business and sucked up Italian food. He wrote the lyrics on scraps of notepaper, because otherwise he tended to mix them up or forget them altogether, chording the tune while he went "hmmmm-hmmmm, ta-da-hmmmm," trying to look suave like Tony Bennet vamping and feeling like an a-. In elevators and supermarkets he had become morbidly aware of the low Muzak that played constantly.

Then, nine weeks ago and out of the blue, the man from Columbia had called. They wanted to release his demo as a single. Could he come in and back it? Sure, Larry said, He could do that. So he had gone into Columbia's L.A. studios on a Sunday afternoon, double-tracked his own voice on "Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?" in about an hour, and then backed it with a song he had written for Tattered Remnants, "Pocket Savior." The man from Columbia presented him with a check for five hundred dollars and a stinker of a contract that bound Larry to more than it did the record company. He shook Larry's hand, told him it was good to have him aboard, offered him a small, pitying smile when Larry asked him how the single would be promoted, and then took his leave. It was too late to deposit the check, so Larry ran through his repertoire at Gino's with it in his pocket. Near the end of his first set, he sang a subdued version of "Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?" The only person who noticed was Gino's proprietor, who told him to save the n- bebop for the cleanup crew.

Seven weeks ago, the man from Columbia called again and told him to go get a copy of _Billboard_. Larry ran. "Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?" was one of three hot prospects for that week. Larry called the man from Columbia back, and he had asked Larry how he would like to lunch with some of the real biggies. To discuss the album. They were all pleased with the single, which was getting airplay in Detroit, Philadelphia, and Portland, Maine, already. It looked as if it was going to catch. It had won a late-night Battle of the Sounds contest for four nights running on one Detroit soul station. No one seemed to know that Larry Underwood was white.

He had gotten drunk at the luncheon and hardly noticed how his salmon tasted. No one seemed to mind that he had gotten loaded. One of the biggies said he wouldn't be surprise to see "Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?" carry off a Grammy next year. It all rang glorious in Larry's ears. He felt like a man in a dream, and going back to his apartment he felt strangely sure that he would be hit by a truck and that would end it all. The Columbia biggies had presented him with another check, this one for $2,500. When he got home, Larry picked up the telephone and began to make calls. The first one was to Mort "Gino" Green. Larry told him he'd have to find someone else to play "Yellow Bird" while the customers ate his lousy undercooked pasta. Then he called everyone he could think of, including Barry Grieg of the Remnants. Then he went out and got standing-up falling-down drunk.

Five weeks ago the single had cracked the _Billboard's_ Hot One Hundred Number eighty-nine. With a bullet. That was the week spring had really come to Los Angeles, and on a bright sparkling May afternoon, with buildings so white and the ocean so blue that they knocked your eyes out and send them rolling down your cheeks like marbles, he had heard his record on the radio for the first time. Three or four friends were there, including his current girl, and they were moderately done up on cocaine. Larry was coming out of the kitchenette and into the living room with a bag of Toll House cookies when the familiar KLMT slogan—_Nyoooooo…meee-UISIC!—_came on. And then Larry had been transfixed by the sound of his own voice coming out of the Technics speakers:

_"I know I didn't say I was comin down,  
I know you didn't know I was here in town,  
But bay-yay-yaby you can tell me if anyone can,  
Baby, can you dig your man?  
He's a righteous man.  
Tell me baby, can you dig your man?_

"Jesus, that's me," he had said. He dropped the cookies onto the floor and then stood gape-mouthed and stone-flabbergasted as his friends applauded.

Four weeks ago his tune had jumped to seventy-three on the _Billboard_ chart. He began to feel as if he had been pushed rudely into an old-time silent movie where everything was moving too fast. The phone rang off the hook. Columbia was screaming for the album, wanting to capitalize on the single's success. Some crazy rat's a- of an A & R man called three times in one day, telling him he _had_ to get in to Record One, not now but _yesterday_, and record a remake of McCoy's "Hang On, Sloopy" as the follow-up. Monster! this m- kept shouting. Only follow-up that's possible, Lar! (He had never met this guy and already he wasn't even Larry but Lar.) It'll be a monster! I mean a f- _monster_!

Larry at last lost his patience and told the monster-shouter that, given a choice between recording "Hang On, Sloopy" and being tied down and receiving a Coca-cola enema, he would pick the enema. Then he hung up.

The train kept rolling just the same. Assurances that this could be the biggest record in five years poured into his dazed ears. Agents called by the dozen. They all sounded hungry. He began to take uppers, and it seemed to him he heard his song everywhere. One Saturday morning he heard it on "Soul Train" and spent the rest of the day trying to make himself believe that, yes, that actually happened.

It became suddenly hard to separate himself from Julie, the girl he had been dating since his gig at Gino's. She introduced him to all sorts of people, few of them people he really wanted to see. Her voice began to remind him of the prospective agents he heard over the telephone. In a long, loud, acrimonious argument, he split with her. She had screamed at him that his head would soon be too big to fit through a recording studio door, that he owed her five hundred dollars for dope, that he was the 1990s' answer to Zagar and Evans. She had threatened to kill herself. After Larry felt as if he had been through a long pillow-fight in which all the pillows had been treated with low-grade poison gas.

They had been cutting the album three weeks ago, and Larry had withstood most of the "for your own good" suggestions. He used what leeway the contract gave him. He got three of the Tattered Remnantsw—Barry Grieg, Al Spellman, and Johnny McCall—and two other musicians he had worked with in the past, Neil Goodman and Wayne Stukey. They cut the album in nine days, absolutely all the studio time they could get. Columbia seemed to want an album based on what they thought would be a twenty-week career, beginning with "Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?" and ending with "Hang On, Sloopy." Larry wanted more.

The album cover was a photo of Larry in an old-fashioned clawfoot tub full of suds. Written on the tiles above him in a Columbia secretary's lipstick were the words POCKET SAVIOR and LARRY UNDERWOOD. Columbia had wanted to call the album _Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?_ but Larry absolutely balked, and they had finally settled for a CONTAINS THE HIT SINGLE sticker on the shrink wrap.

Two weeks ago the single hit number forty-seven, and the party had started. He had rented a Malibu beachhouse for a month, and after that things got a little hazy. People wander in and out, always more of them. He knew some, but mostly they were strangers. He could remember being huckstered by even more agents who wanted to "further his great career." He could remember one girl who had bum-tripped and gone screaming down the bone-white beach as naked as a nuthatch. He could remember snorting coke and chasing it with tequila. He could remember being shaken awake on Saturday morning, it must have been a week or so ago, to hear Kasey Kasem spin his record as debut somg at thirty-six on "American Top Forty." He could remember taking a great many reds and, vaguely dickering for the Datsun Z with a four-thousand dollar royalty check that had come in the mail.

(**A/N:** Now comes the prime example why I don't recommend doing drugs and drinking alcohol)

And then it was June 13, six days ago, the day Wayne Stukey asked Larry to go for a walk with him down the beach. It had only been nine in the morning but the stereo was on, both TVs with something going on in the basement playroom. Larry had been sitting in an overstuffed living room chair, wearing only underpants, and trying owlishly to get the sense from a _Superboy_ comic book. He felt very alert, but none of the words seem to connect to anything. There was no gestalt. A Wagner piece was thundering from the quad speakers, and Wayne had to shout three or four times to make himself understood. Then Larry nodded. He felt if he could walk for miles.

But when the sunlight struck Larry's eyeballs like needles, he suddenly changed his mind. No walk. Uh-uh. His eyes had been turned into magnifying glasses, and soon the sun would shine through them long enough to set his brain on fire. His poor old brain felt tinder-dry.

Wayne, gripping his arm firmly, insisted. They went down to the beach, over the warming sand to the darker hardpack, and Larry decided it had been a pretty good idea after all. The deepening sound of the breakers coming home was soothing. A gull, working to gain altitude hung straining in the blue sky like a sketched white letter M.

Wayne tugged his arm firmly. "Come on."

Larry got all the miles he had felt he could walk. Except that he no longer felt that way. He had an ugly headache and his spine felt as if it had turned to glass. His eyeballs were pulsing and his kidneys ached dully. An amphetamine hangover is not as painful as the morning after the night you got through a whole fifth of Four Roses, but it is not as pleasant as, say, balling Raquel Welch would be. If he had another couple of uppers, he could climb neatly on top of this eight-ball that wanted to run him down. He reached in his pocket to get them and for the first time became aware that he was clad only in shivvies and that had been fresh three days ago.

"Wayne, I wanna go back."

"Let's walk a little more." He thought that Wayne was looking at him strangely, with mixture of exasperation and pity.

"No, man, I only got my shorts on. I'll get picked up for indecent exposure."

"On this part of the coast you could wrap a bandanna around your w- and let your balls hang free and still not get picked up for indecent exposure. Come on, man."

"I'm tired," Larry said querulously. He began to feel p- at Wayne. This was Wayne's way of getting back at him, because Larry had a hit and he, Wayne, only had a keyboard credit on the new album. He was no different than Julie. Everybody hated him now. Everyone had the knife out. His eyes blurred with easy tears.

"Come on, man," Wayne repeated, and they struck off up the beach again.

They had walked perhaps another mile when double cramps struck the big muscles in Larry's thighs. He screamed and collapsed onto the sand. It felt as if twin stilettos had been planted in his flesh at the same instant.

"Cramps!" he screamed. "Oh man, cramps!"

Wayne squatted beside him and pulled his leg out straight. The agony hit again, and then Wayne went to work, hitting the knotted muscles, kneading them,. At last the oxygen-starved tissues began to loosen.

Larry, who had been holding his breath, began to gasp. "Oh man," he said. "Thanks. That was…that was bad."

"Sure," Wayne said, without sympathy. "I bet it was, Larry. How are you now?"

"Okay. But let's just sit, huh? Then we'll go back."

"I want to talk to you. I had to get you out here and I wanted you straight enough so you could understand what I was laying on you."

"What's that, Wayne?" He thought: Here it comes. The pitch. But what Wayne said seemed so far from a pitch that for a moment he was back with the _Superboy_ comic, trying to make sense of a six-word sentence.

"The party's got to end, Larry."

"Huh?"

"The party. When you go back. You pull all the plugs, give everybody their car keys, thank everyone for a lovely time, and see them out the front door. Get rid of them."

"I can't do that!" Larry said, shocked.

"You better," Wayne said.

"But why? Man, this party's just getting going!"

"Larry, how much has Columbia paid you up front?"

"Why would you want to know?" Larry asked slyly.

"Do you think I want to suck off you, Larry? Think."

Larry thought, and with dawning bewilderment he realized there was no reason why Wayne Stukey would want to put the arm on him. He hadn't really made it yet, was scuffling for jobs like most of the people who had helped Larry cut the album, but unlike them, Wayne came from a family with money and he was on good terms with his people. Wayne's father own half of the country's third-largest electronic games company, and the Stukeys had a modestly palatial home in Bel Air. Bewildered, Larry realized that his own sudden good fortune probably looked like small bananas to Wayne.

"No, I guess not," he said gruffly. "I'm sorry. But it seems like every tinhorn cockroach-chaser west of Las Vegas—"

"So how much?"

Larry thought it over. "Seven grand up front. All told."

"They're paying you quarterly royalties on the single and biannually on the album?"

"Right."

Wayne nodded. "They hold it until the eagle screams, the b-. Cigarette?"

Larry took one and cupped the end for a light.

"Do you know how much this party's costing you?"

"Sure," Larry said.

"You didn't rent this house for less than a thousand."

"Yeah, that's right." It had actually been $1,200 plus a $500 damage deposit. He had paid the deposit and half the month's rent, a total of $1,100 with $600 owing.

"How much for dope?" Wayne asked.

"Aw, man, you got to have something. It's like cheese for Ritz crackers—"

"There was pot and there was coke. How much, come on?"

"The f- DA," Larry said sulkily. "Five hundred and five hundred."

"And it was gone the second day."

"The h- it was!" Larry said, startled. "I saw two bowls when we went out this morning, man. Most of it was gone, yeah, but—"

"Man, don't you remember the Deck?" Wayne's voice suddenly dropped into an amazingly good parody of Larry's own drawling voice. "Just put it on my tab, Dewey. Keep 'em full."

Larry looked at Wayne with a dawning horror. He _did_ remember a small, wiry guy with a peculiar haircut, a whiffle cut they had called it ten or fifteen years ago, a small guy with a whiffle haircut and a T-shirt reading JESUS IS COMING & IS HE P-. This guy seemed to have good dope practically falling out of his a-. He could even remember telling this guy, Dewey the Deck, to keep his hospitality bowls full and put it on his tab. But that had been…well, that had been _days_ ago.

Wayne said. "You're the best thing to happen to Dewey Deck in a long time, man."

"How much is he into me for?"

"Not bad on pot. Pot's cheap. Twelve hundred. Eight grand on coke."

For a minute Larry thought he was going to puke. He goggled silently at Wayne. He tried to speak and he could only mouth: _Ninety-two hundred?_

"Inflation, man," Wayne said. "You want the rest?"

Larry didn't want the rest, but he nodded.

"There was a color TV upstairs. Someone ran a chair through it. I'd guess three hundred for repairs. The wood paneling downstairs has been gouged to h-. Four hundred. With luck. The picture window facing the beach got broken the day before yesterday. Three hundred. The shag rug in the living room is totally kaput—cigarette burns, beer, whiskey. Four hundred. I called the liquor store and they're just as happy with their tab as Deck is with his. Six hundred."

"Six hundred for booze?" Larry whispered. Blue horror had encased him up to the neck.

"Be thankful most of them have been scoffing beer and wine. You've got a four-hundred-dollar tab down at the market, mostly for pizza, chips, tacos all that good s-. But the worst is the noise. Pretty soon the cops are going to land. _Les flies_. Disturbing the peace. And you've got four or five heavies doing up on heroin. There's three or four ounces of Mexican brown in the place."

"Is that on my tab, too?" Larry asked housely.

"No. Deck doesn't mess with heroin. That's an Organization item and the Deck doesn't like the idea of cement, cowboy boots. But if the cops land, you can bet that _bust_ will go on your tab."

"But I didn't know—"

"Just a babe in the woods, yeah."

"But—"

"Your total tab for this little shindy so far comes to over twelve thousand dollars," Wayne said. "You went out and picked that Z off the lot…how much did you put down?"

"Twenty-five," Larry said numbly. He felt like crying.

"So what have you got until the next royalty check? Couple thousand?"

"That's about right," Larry said, unable to tell Wayne he had less than that: about eight hundred, split evenly between cash and checking.

"Larry, you listen to me because you're not worth telling twice. There's always a party waiting to happen. Out here the only two constants are the constant b- and the constant party. They come running like dickey birds looking for bugs on a hippo's back. Now they're here. Pick them off your carcass and send them on their way."

Larry thought of the dozens of people in the house. He knew maybe one person in three at this point. The thought of telling all those unknown people to leave made his throat want to close up. He would lose their good opinion. Oposing this thought came an image of Dewey Deck refilling the hospitality bowls, taking a notebook from his back pocket, and writing it all down at the bottom of his tab. Him and his whiffle haircut and his trendy t-shirt.

Wayne watched him calmly as he squirmed between these two pictures.

"Man, I'm gonna look like the a- of the world," Larry said finally, hating the weak and petulant words as they fell out of his mouth.

"Yeah, they'll call you a lot of names. They'll say you're going Hollywood. Getting a big head. Forgetting your old friends. Except none of them are your friends, Larry. Your friends saw what was happening three days ago and split the scene. It's no fun to watch a friend who's, like, p- his pants and doesn't even know it."

"So why tell me?" Larry asked, suddenly angry. The anger was prodded out of him by the realization that all his really good friends had taken off, and in retrospect all their excuses seemed lame. Barry Grieg had taken him aside, had tried to talk to him, but Larry had been really flying, and he had just nodded and smiled indulgently at Barry. Now he wondered if Barry had been trying to lay this same rap on him. It made him so embarrassed and angry to think so.

"Why tell me?" he repeated. "I get the feeling you don't like me so very g- much."

"No…but I really don't dislike you, either. Beyond that, man, I couldn't say. I could have let you get your nose punched on this. Once would have been enough for you."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll tell them. Because there's a hard streak in you. There's something in you that's like biting on tinfoil. Whatever it takes to make success, you've got it. You'll have a nice little career. Middle-of-the-road pop no one will remember in five years. The junior high boppers will collect your records. You'll make money."

Larry balled his fists on his leg. He wanted to punch that calm face. Wayne was saying things that made him feel like a small pile of d- beside a stop sign.

"Go on back and pull the plug," Wayne said softly. "Then you get in that car and go. Just go, man. Stay away until you know the next royalty check is waiting for you."

"But Dewey—"

"I'll find a man to talk to Dewey. My pleasure, man. The guy will tell Dewey to wait for his money like a good little boy, and Dewey will be happy to oblige." He paused, watching two small children in bright bathing suits run up the beach. A dog ran beside them, rowfing loudly and cheerily at the blue sky.

Larry stood up and forced himself to say thanks. The sea breeze slipped in and out of his aging shorts. The word come out of his mouth like a brick.

"You just go away somewhere and get your s- together," Wayne said, standing up beside him still watching the children. "You've got a lot of s- to get together. What kind of manager you want, what kind of tour you want, what kind of contract you want after _Pocket Savior_ hits. I think it will; it's got that neat little beat. If you give yourself some room, you'll figure it all out. Guys like you always do."

…

Thinking back on it, even with Jason and Piper not here, Larry didn't know how to answer this question. So aloud he instead said, "I guess I got to missing you, Mom."

Piper wasn't convince. She seen that drawn out look before. The look of someone who got too much of fame and fortune than they could handle and ended up biting off more than they could chew. Her dad worked with many people like that.

_It happens to the best of people, Pipes. It can't be helped._ Her dad would say. _All you can do is give a helping hand when they need it and hope they take it._

Piper guessed someone did just that for Larry and he's here because of it.

Alice snorted to Larry's response. "That's why you wrote me often?"

"I'm not much of a letter writer." He pumped his cigarette slpowly up and down. Smoke rings formed from the tip and drifted off.

Jason was about to ask about calling, but remembered they were in 1990s and he got the feeling long distant calls weren't free yet.

"You can say that again," Alice said.

Smiling, he said: "I'm not much of a letter-writer."

"But you're still smart to your mother. That hasn't changed."

"I'm sorry," he said. "How have you been, Mom?"

Now Jason and Piper felt they were in something personal as Alice put the skillet in the drainer.

"We better get going, Mrs. Underwood," Jason said. "Thanks again for the breakfast."

"Not a problem, Jason and Piper. With as much as you two been helping me out, it's the least I can do," Alice said.

Jason and Piper took the subway to work. When they came back after work, Larry's car was still where he left it, telling them he was staying.

"I hope he doesn't do something to cause his mother trouble," Piper said as she told Jason earlier of her opinion of him.

"Alice raised him, hopefully she know how to deal with him," Jason said. "All we can do right now is hope."

* * *

**A/N: **If you haven't figured it out, it was the consequences of drugs and alcohol abuse is part of the reason why I stay away from them. There's always consequences.

Also I started doing volunteer work, so my writing time is cut down. So I extended my poll final dates to two months instead of one to give me more time on winners.

I also realized that despite my careful planning with Calypso, I forgot that Percy still has the Achilles Curse, and that any test involving needles will be impossible. Still, too late to do anything about it, so I'm just going to have to let them pass it off as a unexplained ability of Percy that some humans have that no others have.

Oh and if you really thought 'Baby, Can Dig Your Man?' was sang by an african american singer, then Stephen King had you fool as he didn't reveal Larry as the real singer until he first appeared too.

Also I'm going to skip around in chapters in this story and combine some like Fran's parents response to her pregnancy and all that due to little to no character involvement or impact from those from The Tales of series


	6. Healthy Doesn't Always Refer to Being…

**A/N:** I do not own the Percy Jackson series Kane Chronicles or The Stand Cut or Uncut version. I have however posted 'The Tales of...' series. This story takes place after The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy but before the events of Trials of Apollo. Before reading this I suggest to read if you haven't yet:

The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Early Adventures  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sea of Monsters  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Titan's Curse  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Magical Labyrinth  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Stolen Chariot  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sword of Hades  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Bronze Dragon  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Last Olympian  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Staff of Hermes  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Mark of Athena  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The House of Hades  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Blood of Olympus  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Son of Sobek  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Staff of Serapis  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy

Also I'm going to let this out. On rough decisions based on what I know from The Stand, any mystical creatures Monsters, and automatons that are usually associated which characters from The Tales of and/or Percy Jackson won't be in this story

Also there's no character list for the stand, but if I had too pick two from the book it be Stu Redman and Fran Goldsmith as a pairing, and if I was allowed to add a fifth character to show, it would be of course Mother Abigail.

For the list of pairings which would be spoiler alert for those showing up later:

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase  
Leo Valdez/Calypso  
Jason Grace/Piper McLean  
Frank Zhang/Hazel Levesque  
Stu Redman/Fran Goldsmith  
Larry Underwood (no relations to Grover obviously)/Lucy Swan

Other Important Characters

Mother Abigail  
Nick Andros  
Tom Collins  
Glen  
Ralph  
Trashcan Man  
Susan Stern  
a few more demigods as extra characters to help out.

Antagonist but still important  
Randal Flagg  
Harold Lauder  
Nadine Cross  
Lloyd

And of course the two main forces that are mention but more of Lead Supporting Roles without actually making a character appearance: God and Devil

* * *

**Healthy Doesn't Always Refer to Being Helpful**

In the dim light that comes over the land just after sunset but before true dark, during one of those very few minutes that moviemakers call "the magic hour," Vic Palfrey rose out of green delirium to brief lucidity.

_I'm dying,_ he thought, and the words clanged strangely through his mind, making him believe he had spoken aloud, although he had not.

He gazed around the himself and saw a hospital bed, now cranked up to keep his lungs from drowning in themselves. He had been tightly secured with brass laundry pins, and the sides of the bed were up. _Been thrashing some, I guess,_ he thought with faint amusement. _Been kicking up dickens._ And belatedly: _Where am I?_

There was a bib around his neck and the bib was covered with clots of phlegm. His head ached. Queer thoughts dance in and out of his mind and he knew he had been delirious…and would be again. He was sick and this was not a cure or the beginning of one, but only a brief respite.

He put the inside of his right wrist against his forehead and pulled it away with a wince, the way you pull your hand off a hot stove. Burning up, all right, and full of tubes. Two small clear plastic ones were coming out of his nose. Another one snaked out from under the hospital sheet to a bottle on the floor, he surely knew where the other end of _that_ one was connected. Two bottles hung suspended from a rack beside the bed, a tube coming from each one and then joining to make a Y that ended by going into his arm just below the elbow. An IV feed.

You'd think that would be enough, he thought. But there were wires on him as well. Attached to his scalp. And chest. And left arm. One seemed to be plastered into his s- belly button. And to cap it all off, he was pretty sure something was jammed up his a-. What in God's name could that one be? S- radar?

"Hey!"

He had intended to resonant, indignant shout. What he produce was the humble whisper of a very sick man. It came out surrounded on all sides by the phlegm on which he seemed to be choking.

_Mamma, did George put the horse in?_

That was the delirium talking. An irrational thought, zooming boldly across the field of more rational cogitation like a meteor. All the same, it almost fooled him for a second. He wasn't going to be up for long. The thought filled him with panic. Looking at the scrawny sticks of his arms, he guessed he had lost so much as thirty pounds, and there hadn't been all that much of him to start with. This…this whatever-it-was…was going to kill him. The idea that he might die babbling insanities and inanities like a senile old man terrified him.

_George's gone courting Norma Willis. You get that horse your ownself, Vic, and put his nosebag on like a good boy._

_Ain't my job._

_Victor, you love your mamma, now._

_I do. But it ain't—_

_You got to love your mamma now. Mamma's got the flu._

_No you don't, Mamma. You got TB. It's the TB that's going to kill you. In nineteen and forty-seven. And George's is going to die just about six days after he gets to Korea, time enough for just one letter and then bang bang bang. George is—_

_Vic you help me now and put that horse in and that is my last word _ON_ it._

"I'm the one with the flu, not her," he whispered, surfacing again. "It's _me_."

He was looking at the door, and thinking it was a d- funny door even for a hospital. It was round at the corners, outlined with pop-rivets, and the lower jamb was set six inches or more up from the floor. Even a jackleg carpenter like Vic Palfrey could

_(gimme the funnies Vic you had em long enough)_

_(Mamma he took my funnypages! Give em back! Give em _baaaack_!)_

build better than that. It was

_(steel)_

Something in the thought drove a nail deep into his brain and Vic struggled to sit up so he could see the door better. Yes, it was. It was definitely was. A steel door. Why was he in a hospital behind a steel door? What had happened? Was he really dying? Had he best be thinking of just how he was going to meet his God? God, what had _happened_? He tried desperately to pierce the hanging gray fog, but only voices came through, far away, voices he could put no names against.

_ Now what I say is this…they just gotta say screw this inflation…_

_Germany tried that too after Word War I… All they did was make their economy worse.…_

_I got to go with Annabeth on this one…_

_(Annabeth? Annabeth Chase? Who was she? I know that name?)_

_Better turn off your pumps, Hap._

_(Hap? Bill Hapscomb? Another name I know)_

_I don't think it'll explode. I believe we're safe._

_Holy moly.…_

_They're dead, okay…_

_Gimme your hand and I'll pull you up outta there…_

_Gimme the funnies Vic you had—_

At that moment the sun sank far enough below the horizon to cause a light-activated circuit (or in this case, an absence-of-light-activated circuit) to kick in. The lights went on in Vic's room. As the room lit up, he saw the row of faces observing him solemnly from behind two layers of glass and he screamed, at first thinking these were the people who had been holding conversation in his mind. One of the figures, a man in doctor's whites, was gesturing urgently to someone outside Vic's field of vision, but Vic was already over his scare. He was too weak to stay scared long. But the sudden fright that had come with the silent bloom of light and this vision of staring faces (like a jury of ghosts in the hospital whites) had cleared away some of the blockage in his mind and he knew where he was. Atlanta. Atlanta, Georgia. They had come and taken him away—him and Hap and Norm and Norm's wife and Norm's kids. They had taken Hank Carmichael. Stu Redman. Annabeth Chase. Percy Jackson. God alone knew how many others. Vic had been scared and indignant. Sure, he had the snuffles and sneezes, but he surely wasn't coming down with cholera or whatever it was that poor man Campion and his family had had. He'd been running a low grade fever, too, and he remembered that Norm Bruett had stumbled and needed help getting up the steps to the plane. His wife had been scared, crying, and little Bobby Bruett had been crying too—crying and coughing. A raspy, croupy, cough. The plane had been at the small landing strip outside of Braintree, but to get beyond Arnette town limits they had to pass a roadblock on US 93, and men had been stringing bobwire…stringing bobwire right out into the desert.

A red light flashed on over the strange door. There was a hissing sound, then a sound like a pump running. When it kicked off, the door opened. The man who came in was dressed in a huge white pressure suit with a transparent faceplate. Behind the faceplate, the man's head bobbed like a balloon enclosed in a capsule. There were pressure tanks on his back, and when he spoke, his voice coming from one of those video games, like the one that said, "Try again, Space Cadet" when you f- up your last go.

It rasped: "How are you feeling, Mr. Palfrey?"

But Vic couldn't answer. Vic had gone back into the green depths. It was his mamma he saw behind the face plate of the white-suit. Mamma had been dressed in white when Poppa took him and George to see her for the last time in then sanny atrium. She had to go to the sanny-tarium so everybody else in the family wouldn't catch what she had. TB was catching. You could die.

He talked to his mamma…said he would be good and put in the horse…told her George had taken the funnies…asked her if she felt better…asked if she thought she would be home soon…and the man in the white-suit gave him a shot and he sank deeper and his words became incoherent. The man in the white-suit glanced back at the faces behind the glass wall and shook his head.

He clicked an intercom switch inside his helmet with his chin and said, "If this one doesn't work, we'll lose him by midnight."

For Vic Palfrey, magic hour was over.

…

Percy and Annabeth finally gotten a lucky break since they arrived in this crazy place. They were allowed to share room together as an experiment to see just how unaffected the virus was spreading between them through Annabeth.

At first they were given separate rooms when they arrived, which been annoyance to the young couple. Not just because they wanted to check on each other (nurses wouldn't help as they said the doctors wouldn't allow it), but also because of Percy's ADHD made it hard for him to just sit around and do nothing all day. They had a TV, and too Annabeth's delight a education channels, but when there was nothing on for Percy, he went stir crazy.

Then came the needles for blood work and all that and that's when the doctor's discovered that Percy's skin couldn't be penetrated by needles. Maybe if they got his weak spot, but Percy wasn't about to risk that.

After days of breaking expensive needles, the doctor came in and told Percy that the higher ups decided to stop trying to poke and prod Percy with needles if he agreed too some physical test too see just how healthy he is since Percy doesn't seem sick.

Percy agreed but only if they keep him updated on those that came with him. That came to be difficult, but eventually the doctor agreed to keep him updated on at least Annabeth.

So Percy did some cardio and respitory test in return he been kept up to date with Annabeth. The doctors didn't say she was sick or not, which annoyed Percy to wits end, but he came to suspect if she isn't dead yet, she might be immune like him.

Then the doctors confirmed his suspicions when they elaborated him in a new experiment involving Annabeth too see just how healthy she is, and later on others that haven't been sick if they cooperate. With that Percy and Annabeth were transferred into a double room with two beds and a glass wall. They couldn't do anything private of course, and Annabeth was poked with needles still, but they had their time together. Unfortunately there was one draw back for Percy…

"I told you what Hap had might be connected to Campion," Annabeth said.

"You're right! I'm sorry!" Percy groaned.

A common draw back indeed that the son of Poseidon was use too at this point.

Meanwhile their observers learned that Annabeth usually the one that is right about things when she and Percy talk about something and that Percy don't normally argue against her because of it. Which is more than they can say about one other patient that happens to also not be sick.

…

"Just roll up your sleeve, Mr. Redman," the pretty nurse with the dark hair said. "This won't take a minute." She was holding the blood pressure cuff in two gloved hands. Behind the plastic mask she was smiling as if they shared an amusing secret.

"No," Stu said.

The smile faltered a little. "It's only your blood pressure. It won't take a minute."

"No."

"Doctor's orders," she said, becoming businesslike. "Please."

"If it's doctor's orders, let me talk to the doctor."

"I'm afraid he's busy right now. If you'll just—"

"I'll wait," Stu said equably, making no move to unbutton the cuff of his shirtsleeve.

"This is only my job. You don't want me to get in trouble, do you?" This time she gave him a charming-waif smile. "If you'll only let me—"

"I won't," Stu said. "Go back and tell them. They'll send somebody."

Looking troubled, the nurse went across to the steel door and turned a square key in a lockplate. The pump kicked on, the door shooshed open, and she stepped through. As it closed, she gave Stu a final reproachful look. Stu gazed back blandly.

…

"So what's the chance there are others from Arnette not sick?" Percy asked.

"I don't know. Norm didn't look to well, and it looked like his kids were catching too," Annabeth said. "Stu looked fine, but I think only Hap had the chance to talk to him since we were gathered."

Gathered was one way to put it, Percy thought.

Two days ago in the afternoon, four army men and a doctor took them from Hap's home. The soldiers were armed and didn't let any questions or declining. Annabeth and Percy were in a army station wagon with Vic Palfrey, Hap, the Bruetts, Hank Carmichael and his wife, and two army non-coms and Lila Bruett was hysterical on the way to Braintree airstrip.

Annabeth had guessed the army gathered anyone they been in contact since Campion died and went from there as there were more than one army station wagon and each were crammed with people.

At the town limits there had been two olive green trucks blocking the road, barbed wire stringed up as if to close off the town. Even Percy knew that meant one thing: Quarantine.

Of those in the army station wagon, Norm was the sickest. He was coughing, bringing up phlegm, and feverish. Everyone else but Stu seemed to be suffering a greater or lesser degree from the common cold: sneezing, coughs, and sniffles.

They were all put in an military airplane and given first class treatment of food and drinks. Lila Bruett had started calming down until Norm had some kind of fainting spell. Two stewards bundled Norm into a blanket and brought him around in fairy short order and then one of them forced Lila to drink some milk with something in it that calmed her down.

When they touched down, there had been four Cadillac limousines waiting for them. The Arnette folks along with Percy and Annabeth filled three of them and the army escort got into the fourth one.

"Stu might be immune," Percy said. "He was the only one with us not showing signs of being sick.

"Maybe, but we don't know how long this virus can stay incubated before it starts spreading," Annabeth said. "Heck we might not really be immune for all we know."

"Well, then, let's just pray to Apollo or Asclepius that we are immune and so is Stu and someone else. Because I don't think I can handle keep watching you getting poked and prodded for blood to make a vaccine out of if it turns out you're the only one they can get results from," Percy said.

Little Percy know, although Stu was immune, he was still giving the doctors and nurses trouble.

…

The red light went on over Stu's door. When the compressor or pump or whatever it was stopped, a man in one of the white space-suits stepped through. Dr. Denninger. He was young. He had black hair, olive skin, sharp features, and an mealy mouth. When Percy first saw him, he made a joke to Annabeth that Denninger looked like he can pass off as child or legacy of Hermes-Mercury and/or Hades-Pluto (not using the gods actual names but nicknames only Annabeth could identify the gods with) with those features.

"Patty Greer says you gave her some trouble," Denninger's chest speaker said as he clopped over to Stu. "She's quite upset."

"No need for her to be," Stu said easily. It was hard to sound easy, but he felt it was important to hide his fear from this man. Denninger looked and acted like the kind of man who would ride his help and bullyrag them around but lick up to his superiors like an egg-suck dog. That kind of man could be pushed away if he thought you held the whip hand. But if he smelled fear on you, he would hand you the same old cake: a thin icing of "I'm sorry I can't tell you more" and top and a lot of contempt for stupid civilians who wanted to know more than what was good for them underneath.

The problem wasn't the test though. He had no objections to them. It was the idea of him being kept in the dark and scared that he object. Like Annabeth and Percy, Stu had put together his own theory on what was going on and he been waiting patiently, buying his time for answers. But now they expect him to abide to their test with no answers.

He went through similar situation four years ago when his wife had died of cancer at the age of twenty-seven. It had started in her womb and then just raced through her like wildfire, and Stu had observed the way doctors and nurses got around her questions, either by changing the subject or giving her information in large, technical lumps. And like then, Stu had to try to force some answers after waiting long enough.

"I want some answers," Stu said.

"I'm sorry, but—"

"If you want me to cooperate, give me some answers."

"In time you will be—"

"I can make it hard for you."

"We know that," Denninger said peevishly. "I simply don't have the authority to tell you anything, Mr. Redman. I know very little myself."

"I guess you've been testing my blood. All those needles."

"That's right," Denninger said warily.

"What for?"

"Once more, Mr. Redman, I can't tell you what I don't know." The peevish tone was back again, and Stu was inclined to believe him. He was nothing but a glorified technician on this job, and he didn't like it much.

"They put my home town under quarantine."

"I know nothing about that, either." But Denninger cut his eyes away from Stu's and this time Stu thought he was lying.

"How come I haven't seen anything about it?" He pointed to the TV set bolted to the wall.

"I beg your pardon?"

"When they roadblock off a town and put bobwire around it, that's news," Stu said.

"Mr. Redman, if you'll only let Patty take your blood pressure—"

"No. If you want any more from me, you better send two big strong men to get it. And no matter how many you send, I'm gonna try to rip some holes in those germ-suits. They don't all that strong, you know it?"

He made a playful grab at Denninger's suit, and Denninger skipped backward and nearly fell over. The speaker of his intercom emitted a terrified squak and there was a stir behind the double glass.

"I guess you could feed me something in my food to knock me out, but that'd mix up your tests, wouldn't it?"

"Mr. Redman, you're not being reasonable!" Denninger was keeping prudent distance away. "Your lack of cooperation may do your country a grave disservice. Do you understand me?"

"Nope," Stu said. "Right now it looks to me like it's my country doing _me_ a grave disservice. It's got me locked up in a hospital room in Georgia with a buttermouth little p- doctor who doesn't know s- from Shinola. Get you're a- out of here and send somebody in to talk to me or send enough boys to take what you need by force. I'll fight em, you can count on that."

He sat perfectly still in his chair after Denninger left. The nurse didn't come back. Two strong orderlies did not appear to take his blood pressure by force. Now that he thought about it, he supposed that even such a small thing as a blood pressure reading wouldn't be much good if obtained under duress. For the time being they were leaving him to simmer in his own juices.

It be forty hours before someone would talk to Stu. But until then, unknown Stu, Percy, and Annabeth, there was still one other person being tested for the same reason Stu and Annabeth were, only hers would eventually come with grave news.

* * *

**A/N:** Just a heads up, the next chapter won't include much of The Tales of Characters, but it's included because it shows how this virus spread across the United States and just how fast it is. The reason for chapters like this is that it includes intel on the Super Flu Virus or at least gives you more of an idea what kind of virus it is that the movie doesn't include (I should know I seen the movie and read the book) for those of you who only seen the movie.

Then comes the moment you all are probably aware of and waiting for: Hazel's and Frank's turn to appear in this story. And the person they're going to meet-you'll just have to wait, but I will tell you he's reliable and resourceful. And the fact we know Frank isn't Dyslexic is going to help this guy out later on.


	7. How the Virus Came to be Called…

**A/N:** I do not own the Percy Jackson series Kane Chronicles or The Stand Cut or Uncut version. I have however posted 'The Tales of...' series. This story takes place after The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy but before the events of Trials of Apollo. Before reading this I suggest to read if you haven't yet:

The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Early Adventures  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sea of Monsters  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Titan's Curse  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Magical Labyrinth  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Stolen Chariot  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sword of Hades  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Bronze Dragon  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Last Olympian  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Staff of Hermes  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Mark of Athena  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The House of Hades  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Blood of Olympus  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Son of Sobek  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Staff of Serapis  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy

Also I'm going to let this out. On rough decisions based on what I know from The Stand, any mystical creatures Monsters, and automatons that are usually associated which characters from The Tales of and/or Percy Jackson won't be in this story

Also there's no character list for the stand, but if I had too pick two from the book it be Stu Redman and Fran Goldsmith as a pairing, and if I was allowed to add a fifth character to show, it would be of course Mother Abigail.

For the list of pairings which would be spoiler alert for those showing up later:

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase  
Leo Valdez/Calypso  
Jason Grace/Piper McLean  
Frank Zhang/Hazel Levesque  
Stu Redman/Fran Goldsmith  
Larry Underwood (no relations to Grover obviously)/Lucy Swan

Other Important Characters

Mother Abigail  
Nick Andros  
Tom Collins  
Glen  
Ralph  
Trashcan Man  
Susan Stern  
a few more demigods as extra characters to help out.

Antagonist but still important  
Randal Flagg  
Harold Lauder  
Nadine Cross  
Lloyd

And of course the two main forces that are mention but more of Lead Supporting Roles without actually making a character appearance: God and Devil

* * *

**How the Virus Came to be Called Captain Trips**

On June 18th, five hours after he had talked to his cousin Bill Hapscomb, Joe Bob Brentwood pulled down a speeder on Texas Highway 40 about twenty-five miles east of Arnette. The speeder was Harry Trent of Braintree, an insurance man. He had been doing sixty-five miles per in a fifty-mile-an-hour zone. Joe Bob gave him a speeding ticket. Trent accepted it humbly and then amused Joe Bob by trying to sell him insurance on his house and his life. Joe Bob felt fine; dying was the last thing on his mind. Nevertheless, he was already a sick man. He had gotten more than gas at Bill Hapscomb's Texaco. And he gave Harry Trent more than a speeding summons.

Harry, a gregarious man who liked his job, passed the sickness to more than forty people during that day and the next. How many those forty passed it to is impossible to say. If you were to make a conservative estimate of five apiece, you'd have two hundred. Using the same conservative formula, one could say two hundred went to infect a thousand, the thousand five thousand, the five thousand _twenty-_five thousand.

Under the California desert where Campion had originally come from and subsidized by the taxpayers' money, someone had finally invented a chain letter that really worked. A very lethal chain letter similar to how the Black Plague spread across Europe in the middle ages but more quickly and more ruthlessly without needing flees and rats to help spread it, and leaving more bodies in its wake.

On June 19, the day Piper and Jason met Larry Underwood, Harry Trent stopped at an East Texas café called Babe's Kwik-Eat for lunch. He had the cheeseburger platter and a piece of Babe's delicious strawberry pie for dessert. He had a slight cold, an allergy cold, maybe, and he kept sneezing and having to spit. In the course of the meal he infected Babe, the dishwasher, two truckers in a corner booth, the man who came in to deliver bread and the man who came in to change the records on the juke. He left the sweet thang that waited his table a dollar tip that was crawling with death.

On his way out, a station wagon pulled in. There was a roofrack on top, and the wagon was piled high with kids and luggage. The wagon had New York plates and the driver, who rolled down his window to ask Harry how to get to US 21 going north, had a New York accent. Harry gave the New York fellow a very clear directions on how to get to Highway 21. He also served him and his entire family their death warrants without even knowing it.

The New Yorker was Edward M. Norris, lieutenant of police, detective squad, in the Big Apple's 87th Precinct. This was his first real vacation in five years. He and his family had had a fine time. The kids had been in seventh heaven at Disney World Orlando, and not knowing the whole family would be dead by the second of July. Norris planned to tell that sour sone of a b- Steve Carella that it _was_ possible to take your wife and kids someplace by car and have a good time. Steve, he would say, you maybe a fine detective, but a man who can't police his own family ain't worth a p- drilled in a snowbank.

The Norris family had a kwik-eat at Babe's then followed Harry Trent's admirable directions to Highway 21. Ed and his wife Trish marveled over southern hospitality while the three kids colored in the back seat. Christ only knew, Ed thought, what _Carella_'s pair of monsters would have been up to.

That night they stayed in a Eustace, Oklahoma, travel court. Ed and Trish infected the clerk. The kids, Marsha, Stanley, and Hector, infect the kids they played with on the tourist court's playground—kids bound for west Texas, Alabama, Arkansas, and Tennessee. Trish infected the two women who were washing clothes at the Laundromat two blocks away. Ed on his way down to the motel corridor to get some ice, infected a fellow he passed along the way. Everybody got into the act.

Trish woke Ed up in the early morning hours to tell him that Heck, the baby, was sick. He had an ugly, rasping cough and was running a fever. It sounded to her like the croup. Ed Norris groaned and told her to give the kid some aspirin. If the kid's croup could only have held off another four or five days he could have it in his very own house, and Ed would have been left with the memory of a perfect vacation (not to mention the anticipation of all that gloating he planned to do). He could hear the poor kid through the connecting door, hacking away like a hound dog.

Trish expected that Hector's symptoms would abate in the morning—croup was a lying-down sickness—but by noon of the twentieth, she admitted to herself it wasn't happening. The aspirin wasn't controlling the fever; poor Heck was just glass-eyed with it. His cough had taken on a booming note she didn't like, and his respiration sounded labored and phlegmy. Whatever it was, Marsha seemed to be coming down with it, too, and Trish had a nasty tickle in the back of her own throat that was making her cough, although so far it was only a light cough she could smother in a small hankie.

"We've got to get Heck to a doctor," she said finally.

Ed pulled into a service station and checked the map paperclipped to the station wagon's sun-visor. They were in Hammer Crossing, Kansas. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe we can at least find a doctor who'll give us a referral." He sighed and ran an aggravated hand through his hair. "Hammer Crossing, Kansas! Jesus! Why'd he have to get sick enough to need a doctor at some g- nothing place like _this_?"

Marsha, who was looking at the map over her father's shoulder, said: "It says Jesse James robbed the bank here, Daddy. Twice."

"F- Jesse James." Ed grumped.

"Ed!" Trish cried.

"Sorry," he said, not feeling sorry in the least. He drove on.

After six calls, during each of which Ed Norris carefully-held his temper with both hands, he finally found a doctor in Polliston who would look at Hector if they could get him there by three. Polliston was off their route, twenty miles west of Hammer Crossing, but now the important thing was Hector. Ed was getting worried about him. He'd never seen the kid with so little oomph in him.

They were waiting in the outer office of Dr. Brenden Sweeney by two in the afternoon. By then Ed was sneezing, too. Sweeney's waiting room was full; they didn't get in to see the doctor until nearly four o'clock. Trish couldn't rouse Heck to more than a sludgy semi consciousness, and she felt feverish herself. Only Stan Norris, age nine, still felt good enough to fidget.

During their wait in Sweeney's office they communicated the sickness which would soon be known across the disintegrating country as Captain Trips to more than twenty-five people, including a matronly woman who just came in to pay her bill before going on to pass the disease to her entire bridge club.

This matronly woman was Mrs. Robert Bradford, Sarah Bradford to the bridge club, Cookie to her husband and close friends. Sarah played well that night, possibly because her partner was Angela Dupray, her best friend. They seemed to enjoy a happy kind of telepathy. They won all three rubbers resoundingly, making a grand slam during the last. For Sarah, the only fly in the ointment was that she seemed to be coming down with a slight cold. It wasn't fair, arriving so oon on the heels of the last one.

She and Angela went out for a quiet drink in a cocktail bar after the party broke up at ten. Angela was in no hurry to get home. It was David's turn to have the weekly poker game at their house, and she just wouldn't be able to sleep with all that noise going on…unless she had a little self prescribed sedative first, which in her case would be two sloe gin fizzes.

Sarrah had a Ward 8 and the two women rehashed the bridge game. In the meantime they managed to infect everyone in the Polliston cocktail bar, including two young men drinking beer nearby. They were on their way to California to seek their fortunes. A friend of theirs had promised them jobs with a moving company. The next day they headed west, spreading the disease as they went.

Captain Trips may not be the Black Plague, infact it's a whole lot worse, but like the Black Plague once did to Europe, Captain Trips will fill bedrooms with a body or two in each one, and trenches, and dead-pits, and finally bodies slung into the oceans on each coast and into quarries and into foundations of unfinished houses where they will rot.

Sarah Bradford and Angela Dupray walked back to their parked cars together (infecting four or five people they met on the street), then pecked cheeks and went their separate ways. Sarah went home and infect her husband and his five poker buddies and her teenage daughter, Samantha. Unknown to her parents, Samantha was terribly afraid she had caught a dose of the clap from her boyfriend. As a matter of fact, she had. As a _further_ matter of fact, she had nothing to worry about; next to what her mother had given her, a good working dose of the clap was every bit as serious as a little eczema of the eyebrows.

The next day Samantha would go to infect everybody in the swimming pool at the Polliston YWCA.

And so on.

* * *

**A/N:** Originally Stephen King compared the virus to chain letters, but I decided to extend it differently from chainletters to one of the deadliest plague out breaks in History, the Black Plague, or also known as the Bubonic Plague that wiped out 2/3 of Europe's population. Also I picked Bubonic plague over diseases and outbreaks that happen more closer to our time line like Polio, TB, Ebola, etc because I really don't have the concept of the infection and death rates of those diseases like I do with the Bubonic Plague. So I just went with the one I know most to save myself the research since what I know about the Black Death was stuff they teach in school about the end of the Middle Ages.

Anyways, 2/3s death in Europe may seem a lot, especially during the middle ages, but keep in mind in percentage that is about 67%. If you read the summary of this story you know that 67% is less than the death count expected from Captain Trips. So yeah, Captain Trips is deadlier and ruthless. But the Bubonic Plague is still infecting people today and has even spread to the Americas, so let your guard down with it.

For those of you also reading Blue Plague's Nine-Tail Fox's Son, the infection rate of the Blue Plague is one infected can infect 10 people and that can happen before the person infected turns if somehow they were able to spread the virus before they turn, which is twice the number of Captain Trips. That's why in the original Blue Plague series it was able to strike faster.

There's more to understanding an infection or plague than just infection rates: ow long it can last outside the body before infecting? What kind of infection is it: Bacterial, viral, fungi, or parasitic? Can it go dormant inside the body before causing symptoms and if so how long can it stay dormant? How is it spread? What's the chance of someone not getting the virus instead of being immune? Whats the survival chances? Are there treatments that can at least treat the symptoms until a vaccine is made or doctors can cure it? Can it be cured or will you be stuck with symptoms for the rest of your life if you get it?

That's why chapters like this one is important in stories involving plagues and infections. The more you understand the infection the easier it is to understand what's going on.

By the way, I don't work for the CDC or any training in medical stuff. I learn a good portion of this from watching movies and reading books that the genre involving plagues epidemic pandemics etc. Including the Blue Plague series. And yes the questions I mention can be applied to real life cases when you think about it.

By the way, I looked up Cholera, and I don't know what the heck Vic Palfrey was thinking when he compared Campion and his family's bodies to Cholera victims, but I can assure you symptoms of Cholera is nothing like Captain Trips. I think the cold flu and sinus infections before we develope treatments to help fight those diseases off match the early stages especially colds and flus that developed into pneumonia.


	8. Hazel and Frank Meets a Deaf Mute

**A/N:** I do not own the Percy Jackson series Kane Chronicles or The Stand Cut or Uncut version. I have however posted 'The Tales of...' series. This story takes place after The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy but before the events of Trials of Apollo. Before reading this I suggest to read if you haven't yet:

The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Early Adventures  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sea of Monsters  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Titan's Curse  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Magical Labyrinth  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Stolen Chariot  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sword of Hades  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Bronze Dragon  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Last Olympian  
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Staff of Hermes  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Mark of Athena  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The House of Hades  
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Blood of Olympus  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Son of Sobek  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Staff of Serapis  
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy

Also I'm going to let this out. On rough decisions based on what I know from The Stand, any mystical creatures Monsters, and automatons that are usually associated which characters from The Tales of and/or Percy Jackson won't be in this story

Also there's no character list for the stand, but if I had too pick two from the book it be Stu Redman and Fran Goldsmith as a pairing, and if I was allowed to add a fifth character to show, it would be of course Mother Abigail.

For the list of pairings which would be spoiler alert for those showing up later:

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase  
Leo Valdez/Calypso  
Jason Grace/Piper McLean  
Frank Zhang/Hazel Levesque  
Stu Redman/Fran Goldsmith  
Larry Underwood (no relations to Grover obviously)/Lucy Swan

Other Important Characters

Mother Abigail  
Nick Andros  
Tom Collins  
Glen  
Ralph  
Trashcan Man  
Susan Stern  
a few more demigods as extra characters to help out.

Antagonist but still important  
Randal Flagg  
Harold Lauder  
Nadine Cross  
Lloyd

And of course the two main forces that are mention but more of Lead Supporting Roles without actually making a character appearance: God and Devil

* * *

**Hazel and Frank Meets a Deaf Mute**

Hazel and Frank were on a date in New Rome at Camp Jupiter and gone home to sleep only to wake up in a small town in Arkansas. At first they thought it was just some Roman God sending them on a quest, as Juno/Hera did the same with Percy and Jason, only Hazel and Frank had all their memories.

Then they found out they were in the 1990s which made no sense to them as they were in the 2000s just the other night. They even started suspecting they were in another world all together when days went by and no monsters attack, which was odd considering Frank was the son of Mars and legacy of Poseidon and Hazel was the daughter of Pluto. Surely the two of them would of attract monsters.

Fortunately they found residence with the town sheriff John Baker and his wife Jane, which is a good thing because they quickly found that they were in a community that mainly look after itself and don't always take kindly to strangers, and many were even racist to Hazel for being African American.

Hazel was pretty much ignore the racism about her ethnic and skin color, as compared to what she went through in New Orleans in the 1940s when people thought she and her mother were witches and cursed, this was actually easier. Especially since those who were also African Americans weren't judging her and calling her names too. It was Frank she mostly worried about, as his Chinese-Canadian background combine with the fact he was dating Hazel, didn't exactly help him with the towns folk.

Since it was summer, school was out, and John couldn't find their families, he let Hazel and Frank volunteer a little at the station help cleaning the cells and bringing in food since most of John's deputies left, leaving him short handed. It was actually Jane's idea, and it took a lot of convincing to get John to agree. Mainly with Hazel being about fourteen years old. But Frank backed her up by telling John Hazel is a capable hard worker and not afraid to get dirty—both in a fight and cleaning, which is true since their Cohort, the 5th, often got jobs none of the other Cohorts wanted, which either dangerous or filthiest.

Then one night, the town doctor brought in a young man either in his late teens or early 20s who looked like he been ganged up beaten and possibly robbed as he was covered in bruises and cuts with his mouth bleeding. Apparently the doctor found him after nearly running him over. They decided for now to temporarily lock the guy up in the cell until he wakes up, just incase the guy was dangerous.

Hazel was doing some rounds, making sure the cells were clean, when she heard shuffling coming from the only occupied one with the unconscious guy. She looked to see the guy slowly getting up and look to be in pain because of it.

"Hey," Hazel knocked on the bars trying to get the guy's attention, "Take it easy!"

The guy didn't seem to notice her as he looked around the cell, wincing in pain anytime he turned his head. Finally he propped himself on his elbows and let his clad paper slippers feet dropped over the edge of the cot, and then swung up to a sitting position, obviously earning some pain from that.

"I tried to warn you," Hazel said.

"Something wrong, Hazel?" Frank asked walking up. Although he was nearing seventeen, Frank looked like a muscular giant since his blessing from Mars, but he was still as sweet as he could be.

"Our guest finally woke up," Hazel said. "He doesn't seem to be paying attention to anything I'm saying."

Frank turned and bang the bars. "Hey!"

The guy leaned over his knees, one hand on each cheek as if waiting for the pain he was feeling to pass. Then he started fiddling with the bandaids.

"Huh, I wonder if he's deaf or something," Frank said.

"What the Sam's h- are you two doing, shouting and banging around?" John Baker, a large man in Khaki suntans said as he came through the corridor.

"Our guest from last night woke up," Frank said.

John walked up, wearing a Sam Browne belt with a big pistol. He hooked his thumbs into his pants pockets and looked. "I'll say so since he's standing at the cell door now."

Frank jumped as he and Hazel turned to see the guy was indeed at the cell door looking at them curiously. Hazel wasn't as shock as Frank as she was use to silent sudden appearance from her half-brother Nico.

John decided to speak up to the young man, mostly to break the tension. "When I was a boy we caught ourselves a mountain lion up in the hills and shot it and then drug it twenty mile back to town over dirt hardpan. What was left of that creature when we got home was the sorriest-lookin sight I ever saw. You the second-sorriest, boy."

For the first time since the guy woke up, Hazel and Frank noticed that the guy seem to be paying attention to what John just said.

"You got a name, Babalugah?"

The guy put a finger to his swelled and lacerated lips and shook his head. He put a hand over his mouth, then cut the air with it in a soft diagonal hashmark and shook his head again.

"I think he can't talk," Frank said.

The guy nodded and then plucked an invisible pen from the air and wrote with it.

"You want a pencil?" Hazel asked.

The guy nodded.

"IF you're mute, how come you don't have none of those cards?" John asked.

The guy shrugged and turned out his empty pockets. He balled his fists and shadowboxed the air, which caused him another jolt of pain. He finished by tapping his own temples lightly with his fist, rolling his eyes up, and sagging on the bars. Then he pointed to his empty pockets.

"You were robbed." John guessed.

Another nod.

"I'll get something he can use." Hazel said which the guy didn't seem to catch.

"How are you able to know what we're saying now but didn't respond to us shouting earlier?" Frank asked. "Are you deaf?"

The guy nodded as Hazel came back with a notebook and pencil and gave it to the guy. The guy tapped on the top of the sheet which had the words _From The Desk of Sheriff John Baker._

"That's me," John said. "The girl is Hazel Levesque and the towering giant is her boyfriend Frank Zhang."

The guy then wrote down. "Nick Andros. Yes I'm deaf as well as Mute, but I can read lips. You probably were shouting when I wasn't looking."

"Deaf-Mute who can read lips," Frank said, thanking the Olympians he wasn't Dyslexic like most demigods. "That does makes sense."

"What happen to you tonight? Doc Soames and his wife almost ran you down like a woodchuck, boy."

"Beat up & robbed. A mile or so from a roadhouse on Main St. Zack's Place."

"That hangout's no place for a kid like you, Babalugah. You surely aren't old enough to drink."

Nick shook his head indignantly. "I'm twenty-two," he wrote.

"I told the sheriff you might be in your twenties," Hazel said.

Nick nodded. "I can have a couple of beers without getting beaten up & robbed for them, can't I?"

Baker read this with a sourly amuse look on his face. "It don't appear you can in Shoyo."

"Be glad you're not in a big city, it's more common there than a small town," Frank said.

"What are you doing here?" Hazel asked.

Nick tore the first sheet off the memo pad, crumpled it in a ball, dropped it only for Hazel to catch.

"We been helping the sheriff's wife clean these cells," Hazel said as she tossed it in the toilet.

Nick nodded in understanding. This time he wrote longer, pencil flying over the paper. As soon as he was done he handed the pad through the bars.

"I've been traveling around but I'm not a Bum. Spent today working for a man named Rich Ellerton about 6 miles west of here. I cleaned his barn & put up a load of hay in his loft. Last week I was in Watts, Okla., running fence. The men who beat me up got my week's pay."

"You sure it was Rich Ellerton you was working for? I can check that, you know." Baker had torn off from Nick's, explanation, folded it to wallet-photo size, and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

Nick nodded.

"You see his dog?"

Nick nodded.

"What kind was it?"

Nick gestured for the pad. "Big Doberman," he wrote. "But nice. Not mean."

Baker nodded, turned away, and went back into his office.

"He's getting the keys," Hazel noted. "We only locked you up because we didn't know if you were a threat."

Nick nodded in understanding as Baker returned with a big keyring, unlocked the holding cell, and pushed it back on it's track.

"Come on in the office," Baker offered. "You want some breakfast?"

Nick shook his head then made pouring and drinking motions.

"Coffee? Got that. You take cream and sugar?"

Nick shook his head.

"Take it like a man, huh?" Baker laughed. "Come on."

The two headed to the office as Baker talk about having insomnia.

"Nice guy," Hazel said. "I hope we can help him out?"

"I'm sure the sheriff will think of something," Frank said.

Baker came back as Frank and Hazel got back to work in cleaning the cells.

"Prepare four cells. The boy wants to press charges on those that robbed him."

"You know who it is?" Hazel asked.

"Unfortunately," Baker said. "It's my brother-in-law Ray Booth and his goons."

"Nick knew his name?" Frank asked.

"No, but he remembered the fraternity ring Ray has from LSU and a small scar on his forehead." Baker said. "Wifey not going to be happy about it, but it's nothing new."

"So how are we going to get them?" Frank asked.

"Nick and I will bring Vince Hogan in and interrogate him into giving details. It shouldn't be too hard getting Mike Childress and Billy Warner. Meantime Nick will also be working with you two in order to work back the money he lost until trial."

"Sounds good," Frank said. "Hazel and I will do whatever we can to help."

"Thanks, because babalugah is going to need it," Baker said. "It's not going to be an easy trial, but first we need to get these guys."

Little did they know, although they would get three of the four guys, Captain Trips will strike long before their trial as it's already spread pass the state line of Texas.


End file.
